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THE 



Poetical Works 




OF 






/■ 



THOxMAS HOOD 



WITH A ME, 




NEW YORK: 

JAIMES MILLER, G47 BROADWAY. 

1871. 






\ 






By Tran3r?r 

NIAR 15 19i? 




'■} 



CONTENTS. 



YOL. I. 



Memoir of the Author vii 

The Pica of the Midsummer Fairies 13 

Hero and Leander 53 

Lvcus, the Centaur • 83 

The Two Peacocks of Bedfont 101 

The Two Swans 108 

The Dream of Eugene Aram 118 

Tlie EhTi Tree , ... 125 

The Haunted House 140 

The Bridge of Sighs 151 

/^he Song of the Shirt 154 

The Ladv's Dream 157 

The Workhouse Clock 160 

The Lay of the Labourer 163 

The Lee-Shore 166 

The Death-Bed 167 

Lines on seeing my Wife and two Children sleeping 

in the same Chamber 167 

To my Daughter on her Birthday 168 

To a Child embracing his Mother 169 

Stanzas ; 170 

To a False Friend 171 

The Poet's Portion 171 

Song 172 

Time, Hope, and Memory 173 

Flowers 174 

To 175 

To 175 

To 176 



,V CONTENTS. 

To m 

To . Composed at Kotterdam 178 

Serenade I'^S 

Verses iii an Album ISO 

Ballad 181 

Ballad 181 

Ballad 182 

Ballad 183 

The Romance of Cologne 185 

The Key ; A Moorish Romance 186 

Fair Ines 191 

The Departure of Summer 193 

Ode: Autumn 197 

Autumn 199 

Autumn 200 

Song : for Music 200 

Song 201 

Hymn to the Sun 202 

To a Cold Beauty 203 

Ruth 204 

The Sea of Death 204 

I Remember, I Remember 206 

The Water Lady , 207 

The Exile 208 

To an Absentee 208 

Ode to the Moon 209 

The Forsaken , 212 

Ode to Melancholy 212 

On a Native Singer , 216 

Guido and Marina 217 

Answer to a Lady 221 

^ SONNETS. 

To the Ocean 222 

Lear 222 

Sonnet to a Sonnet 223 

False Poets and True 223 

To 224 

For the 14th of February 225 

To a Sleeping Child 225 

'Jo a Sleeping Child .* ' 226 

*' The world is with me and its many cares." 226 

Written in a Volume of Shakspeare 227 

'J'o Fancy. 227 

To an Enthusiast - [ . ] 228 

" It is not death, that sometime in a sigh." ." . .* 229 

" By ev'ry sweet tradition of true hearts.". ..'. 229 



CO^! TEXTS. V 

Pajre 

On receiving a Gift 230 

Silence 230 

" The cur?e of Adam, the old curse of all." 231 

" Love, dearest Lady, such as I would speak." 2S1 

^liss Kilmanse<rs find her Precious Leg 232 

A Tale of a Trumpet 303 

The Irish Schoolmaster 326 

The Forge 335 

The Last Man 348 

The Season 355 

Love 356 

Faithless Sally Brown 357 

Faithless Nelly Gray 359 

Bianca's Dream 361 

The Demon-Ship 370 

Spring 375 

The Flower 375 

The Sea-SpeU 377 

A Sailor's Apology for Bow-Legs 381 

The Bachelor's Dream 384 

The Wee Man '. 386 

Etching Moralized 388 

Death's Ramble 396 

The Progi-ess of Art 398 

A Fairy" Tale 401 

The Turtles 405 

The Desert-Born 410 

Love Lane . . 421 

Domestic Poems 423 

Hymeneal Retrospections 423 

" The sun was slumbering in the west." 424 

A Parental Ode to ray Son, aged three years and t ve 

months 425 

A Serenade 427 

A Plain Direction 428 

A Table of Errata 432 

A Row at the Oxford Arms 435 

Equestrian Courtship 442 

Au Open Question . 443 




MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR. 



Br Richard Monckton Milnes. 

Thomas Hood, himiorist and poet, was born at 
Llondon in 1798. He was the son of Mr. Hood, 
bookseller, of the firm of Vernor and Hood, a man 
of intelligence, and the author of two novels. " Next 
to being a citizen of the world," writes Thomas 
Hood in his Literary Reniiniscencen^ " it must be the 
best thing to be born a citizen of the world's greatest 
city." The best incident of his boyhood was his 
instruction by a schoolmaster who appreciated his 
talents, and, as he says, " made him feel it impossible 
not to take an interest in learning while he seemed 
so interested in teaching," Under the care of this 
" decayed dominie," whom he has so atTectionately 
recorded, he earned a few guineas — his first literary 
fee — by revising for the press a new edition of Paul 
and Virginia. 

Admitted soon after into the counting-house of 
a friend of his family, he " turned his stool into a 
Pegasus on three legs, every foot, of course, being 
a dactyl or a spondee ; " but the uncongenial pro- 
fession afiected his health, which was never stiong, 
and he was transferred to the care of a relation at 
Dundee. He has graj)hically described his un- 
conditional rejection by this inhospitable personage, 
and the circumstances under which he tbund him- 
self in a strange town without an acquaintance, 
with the most sympathetic nature, anxous for in- 



vVu MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR. 

tellectual and moral culture, but without guidance- 
instruction, or control. This self-dependence, how- 
ever, suited the originality of his character : he be- 
came a large and indiscriminate reader, and before 
lono- contributed humorous and poetical articles to 
the" provincial newspapers and magazines. As a 
proof of the seriousness with which he regarded 
the literary vocation, it may be mentioned that he 
used to write out his poems in printed characters, 
believing that that process best enabled him to 
understand his own peculiarities and faults, and 
probably unconscious that Coleridge had recom- 
mended some such method of criticism when he said 
he thought " print settles it." 

His modest judgment of his own abilities, how- 
ever, deterred him from literature as a profession, 
and on his return to London he applied himself 
assiduously to the art of engraving, in which he 
acquired a skill that in after years became a most 
valuable assistant to his literary labors, and enabled 
him to illustrate his various humours and fancies 
by a profusion of quaint devices, which not only 
repeated to the eye the impressions of the text, but, 
by suggesting amusing analogies and contrasts, add- 
ed considerably to the sense and effect of the work. 

In 1821, Mr. John Scott, the editor of the Lon- 
don Magazine, was killed in a duel, and that peri- 
odical passed into the hands of some friends of 
Mr. Hood, who proposed to him to take a part in 
its publication. His installation into this congenial 
post at once introduced him to the best literary 
society of the time ; and in becoming the associate 
of such men as Charles Lamb, Cary, De Quincy, 
Allan Cunningham, Proctor, Talfourd, Hartley Col- 
eridge, the peasant-poet Clare, and other contribu- 
tors to that remarkable miscellany, he gradually de- 
veloped his own intellectual powers, and enjoyed 
that happy intercourse with superior minds for which 
his cordial and genial character was so well adapted. 



MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR. 15 

and -whiph he lias described in lils best manner, in 
several chapters of Hood's Own. Odes and Ad' 
dresses, his first work, were written about this time, 
in conjunction with his brother-in-law, Mr. J. H. 
Reynolds, the friends of Kent«!; and it is ajireeable 
to find Sir Walter Srott acknowled^intr the uift of 
the work with no formal exjiressions of oratifica- 
tion, but " wishinii the unknowu author jrood health, 
jrood fbi-tune, and whatever other irood things can 
best support and encourage his lively vein of in- 
offensive and humorous satires." Whi/ns and Odd- 
ities, National Tales, Tijlney HalL a novel, and The 
Plea of the Midsummer Fairies, i'o\\o\ye(\. i In these 
works the humorous faculty not oidy predominated, 
but expressed itself with a freshness, originality, 
and power, which the poetical element could not 
claim. There was much true poetry in the verse, 
and much sound sense and keen observation in the 
prose of these works; but the poetical feeling and 
lyrical facility of the one, and the more solid qual- 
ities of the other, seemed best employed Avhen they 
were subservient to his rapid Avit, and to the in- 
genious coruscations of his fancy. N This impression 
was confirmed by the series of the Comic Annual, 
a kind of publication at that time popular, which 
Mr. Hood undertook and continued, almost unas- 
sisted, for several years. Under that somewhat 
frivolous title he treated all the leading events of 
the day in a fine spirit of caricature, entirely free 
from grossness and vulgarity, without a trait of per- 
sonal malice, and with an under-current of true 
sympathy and honest purpose that will preserve 
these papers, like the sketches of Hogarth, long 
after the events and manners they illustrate have 
passed from the minds of men. But just as the 
agreeable jester rose into the earnest satirist, one 
of the most striking peculianties of his style be- 
came a more manifest defect. The attention of the 
. eader was distracted, and his good taste annoyed, 



K MEMOIK OF THE AUTHOR. 

bv the incessant play upon words, of which Hood 
had written in his own vindication : — 

" However critics may take offence, 
A double meaning has a double sense." 

Now it is true that the critic must be unconscious 
of some of the subtlest charms and nicest delicacies 
of language, who would exclude from humorous 
writing all those impressions and surprises which 
depend on the use of the diverse sense of words. 
The history, indeed, of many a word lies hid in 
its equivocal uses ; and it in no way derogates 
from the dignity of the highest poetry to gain 
strength and variety from the ingenious application 
of the same sounds to different senses, any more 
than from the contrivances of rhythm or the ac- 
companiment of imitative sounds. But when this 
habit becomes the characteristic of any wit, it is 
impossible to prevent it from degenerating into 
occasional buffoonery, and from supplying a cheap 
and ready resource, whenever the true vein oi 
humour becomes thin or rare. Artists have been 
known to have used the left hand in the hope of 
checking the fatal facility which practice had con- 
ferred on the right ; and if Mr. Hood had been 
able to place under some restraint the curious and 
complex machinery of words and syllables which 
his fancy was incessantly producing, his style would 
have been a great gainer, and much real earnest- 
ness of object, which now lies confused by the 
brilliant kaleidoscope of language, would have re- 
mained definite and clear. He was probably not 
unconscious of this danger ; for, as he gained ex- 
perience as a writer, his diction became more simple, 
and his ludicrous illustrations less frequent. In 
another annual, called the Gem^ appeared the poem 
on the story of " Eugene Aram," which first mani- 
fested the full extent of that poetical vigour which 
seemed to advance just in proportion as his physical 



MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR. Xl 

health declined. He started a magazine in his 
own name, for which he secured the assistance of 
many literary men of reputation and authority, 
but which was mainly sustained by his own intel- 
lectual activity. ' From a sick-bed, from which he 
never rose, he conducted this work with surprising 
energy, and there composed those poems, too few 
in number, but immortal in the English language, 
such as the " Song of the Shirt," the " Bridge of 
Sighs," and the " Song of the Labourer," which 
seized the deep human interests of the time, and 
transported them from the ground of social phi- 
losophy into the loftier domain of the imagination. 
They are no clamorous expressions of anger at the 
discrepancies and contrasts of humanity, but plain, 
solemn pictures of conditions of life, which neither 
the politician nor the moralist can deny to exist, 
and which they are imperatively called upon to 
remedy, ^yoman, in her wasted life, in her hurried 
death, here stands appealing to the society that 
degrades her, with a combination of eloquence and 
poetry, of forms of art at once instantaneous and 
permanent, and with a metrical energy and variety 
of which perhaps our language alone is capable. ) 

Prolonged illness brought on straitened circum- 
stances; and application was made to Sir Robert 
Peel to place Mr. Hood's name on the pension list, 
with which the British state so moderately rewards 
the national services of literary men. This was 
done without delay, and the pension was continued 
to his wife and family after his death, which occur- 
red on the 3d of May 1845. Nine years after, a 
monument, raised by public subscription, in the 
cemetery of Kensall Green, was inaugurated with 
a concourse of spectators that showed how well the 
memory of the poet stood the test of time. Arti- 
zans came from a great distance to view and honor 
the image of the popular writer whose best efforts 
had been dedicated to the cause and the suO'eriuss 



XU MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR. 

of the workers of the world ; and literary men of 
all opinions gathered around the grave of one of 
their brethren, whose writings were at once the de- 
light of every boy and the instruction of every 
man who read them. 

Happy the humorist whose works and life are an 
illustration of the great moral truth that the sense 
of humour is the just balance of all the faculties of 
man, the best security against the pride of knowl- 
edge and the conceits of the imagination, the 
strongest inducement to submit with a wise and 
pious patience to the vicissitudes of human exist- 
ence. This was the lesson that Thomas Hood left 
behind him, and which the people of this country 
will not easily forget 



THE PLEA 



THE MIDSmOIER FAIRIES. 



TO 

CHARLES LAMB. 



Mt dear Friend, 

I THANK my literary fortune that I am not reduced, like many 
better wits, to barter dedications, for the hope or promise of pat- 
ronage, with some nominally great man; but that where true 
affection points, and honest respect, I am free to gratify my head 
and heart by a sincere inscription. An intimacy and dearness, 
worthy of a much earlier date than our acquaintance can refer to, 
direct me at once to your name : and with this acknowledgment 
of your ever kind feeliig towards me, a desire to record a respect 
and admiration for you as a writer, which no one acquainted with 
our literature, save Elia himself, vnW think disproportionate ot 
misplaced. If I had not these better reasons to govern me, I 
should be guided to the same selection by your intense yet criti- 
cal relish for the works of our great Dramatist, and for that 
favourite play in particular which has furnished the subject of 
my verses. 

It is my design, in the following Poem, to celebrate by au 
allegory, that immortality which Shakspeare has conferred on the 
Fairy mythology by his Midsummer Night's Dream. But for 
him, those pretty children of our childhood would leave barely 
their names to our maturer years ; they belong, as the mites upon 
the plum, to the bloom of fancy, a thing generally too trail and 
beautiful to withstand the rude handling of Time : but the Poet 
has made this most perishable part of the mind's creation equal 
to the most enduring; he has so intertwined the Elfins with 
human sympathies, and Unked them by so many delightful asso- 
ciations with the productions of nature, that they are as real to 
the mind's eye, as their green magical circles to the outer sense. 

It would have been a pity for such a race to go extinct, even 
though they were but as the butterflies that hover about the 
leaves and blossoms of the visible world, 
lam. 

My dear friend, 

Yours most truly, 

1827. T. Hood 



V ^1 



THE 

PLEA OF THE IVCDSUMMER FAIRIES. 

I. 

'TwAS lu that mellow season of the year 
When the hot Sun singes the yellow leaves 
Till they be gold, — and with a broader sphere 
The Moon looks down on Ceres and her sheaves ; 
When more abundantly the spider weaves, 
And tlie cold wind breathes from a chillier clime; 
That forth I fared, on one of those still eves, 
Touch'd with the dewy sadness of the time. 
To think how the bright months had spent theil 
prime. 



So that, wherever I address'd my way, 

I seem'd to track the melancholy feet 

Of him that is the Father of Decay, 

And spoils at once the sour weed and the sweet ;- 

Wherefore regretfully I made retreat 

To some un wasted regions of my brain, 

Charm'd with the light of summer and the heat, 

And bade that bounteous season bloom again, 

And sprout fresh flowers in mine own domain. 



It was a shady and sequester'd scene, 
Liko those famed gardens of Boccaccio, 
Plunlcd with his own laurels ever green, 



1(5 THE PLEA OF THE 

And voses that for endless summer blow ; 
And there were fountain springs to overflow 
Their marble basins, — and cool green arcades 
Of tall o'erarching sycamores, to throw 
Athwart the dappled path their dancing shades,— 
With timid coneys cropping the green blades. 

IV. 

And there were crystal pools, peopled with fish, 
Argent and gold ; and some of Tyrian skin, 
Some crimson-barr'd ; — and ever at a wish ^ 
They rose obsequious till the wave grew thin 
As glass upon their backs, and then dived in, 
Quenching their ardent scales in watery gloom; 
Whilst others with fresh hues row'd forth to win 
My changeable regard, — for so we doom 
Things born of thought to vanish or to bloom 

V. 

And there were many birds of many dyes, 
From tree to tree still faring to and fro. 
And stately peacocks with their splendid eyes, 
And gorgeous pheasants with their golden glow. 
Like Iris just bedabbled in her bow, 
Besides some vocalists, without a name, 
That oft on fairy errands come and go, 
With accents magical ; — and all were tame, 
And pecked at my hand where'er I came. 

VI. 

And for my sylvan company, in lieu 
Of Pampinea with her lively peers, 
Sate Queen Titania with her pretty crew, 
All in their liveries quaint, Avith elfin gears, 
For she was gracious to my childish years. 
And made me free of her enchanted round ; 
Wlierefore this dreamy scene she still endears, 
And plants her coui't upon a verdant mound, 
Fenced with umbrageous woods and groves pro- 
found. 



MIDSUMMER FAIRIES. 17 

VII. 

" Ah me," she cries, " was ever moonlight seen 
So clear and tender for our midniglit trips ? 
Go some one forth, and with a trump convene 
jMy lieges all ! " — Away the goblin skips 
A pa;-e or two apart, and deftly strips 
'J'he luddy skin from a sweet rose's cheek, 
Then blows the shuddering leaf between hi? lips, 
Making it utter forth a shrill small shriek. 
Like a fi'a}''d bird in the gray owlet's beak. 

VIII. 

And lo ! upon my fix'd delighted ken 
Appear'd the loyal Fays. — Some by degrees 
Crept from the primrose buds that open'd then, 
And some from bell-shaped blossoms like the bees. 
Some from the dewy meads, and rushy leas, 
Flew up like chafers when the rustics pass ; 
Some from the rivei-s, others from tall trees 
Dropp'd, like shed blossoms, silent to the grass, 
Spirits and elJins small, of every class. 

IX. 

Peri and Pixy, and quaint Puck the Antic, 
Brought Hobin (joodfellow, that merry swain ; 
And stealthy Mab, queen of old realms romantic, 
Came too, from distance, in her tiny wain. 
Fresh dripping from a cloud — some bloomy rain. 
Then circling the bright Moon, had wash'd her 

car, 
And still bedew'd it with a various stain : 
Lastly came Ariel, shooting from a star. 
Who bears all fairy embassies afar. 

X. 

But Oberon, that night elsewhere exiled, 
Was absent, whether some distemper'd spleen 
Kept him and his fair mate unreconciled, 



18 THE PLEA OF THE 

Or warfare with the Gnome (whose race had been 
Sometime obnoxious,) kept him from his queen, 
And made her now peruse the starry skies 
Prophetical with such an absent mien ; 
Howbeit, the tears stole often to her eyes, 
And oft the Moon was incensed with her sighs — 

XI. 

^V^lich made the elves sport drearily, and soon 
Their hushing dances languished to a stand, 
Like midnight leaves when, as the Zephyrs swoon, 
All on their drooping stems they sink unfann'd, — 
So into silence droop'd the fairy band. 
To see their empress dear so pale and still, 
Crowding her softly round on either hand, 
As pale as frosty snow-drops, and as chill, 
To whom the sceptred dame reveals her ill. 

XII. 

" Alas," quoth she, " ye know our fairy lives 
Are leased upon the fickle faith of men ; 
Not measured out against fate's mortal knives, 
Like human gossamers, we perish when 
We fade, and are forgot in worldly ken, — 
Though poesy has thus prolong'd our date, 
Thanks be to the sweet Bard's auspicious pen 
That rescued us so long! — howbeit of late 
I feel some dark misgivings of our fate. 

XIII. 
"And this dull day my melancholy sleep 
Hath been so throng'fl with images of woe, 
That even now I cannot choose but weep 
To think this was some sad prophetic show 
Of future horror to befall us so, — 
Of mortal wreck and uttermost distress, — 
Yea, our poor empire's fall and overthrow,— 
For this was my long vision's dreadtlil stress, 
And wh(ui I waked mv liouble was not less. 



9 



MIDSUMMER FAIRIES. 
XIV. 

'* Whenever to the clouds I tried to seek, 
Such leaden weight dragg'd these Icarian wings, 
My faithless wanid was wavering and weak, 
And slimy toads had trespass'd in our rings — 
The birds refused to sing for me — all things 
Disown'd their old allegiance to our spells; 
The rude bees prick'd me with their rebel stings ; 
And, when I pass'd, the valley-lily's bells 
Rang out, methought, most melancholy knells. 

XV. 

" And ever on the faint and flagging aii 

A doleful spirit with a dreary note 

Cried in my fearful ear, ' Prepare ! prepare ! ' 

Which soon I knew came from a raven's throat, 

Perch'd on a cypress bough not far remote, — 

A cursed bird, too crafty to be shot, 

That alway cometh with his soot-black coat 

To make hearts dreary : — for he is a blot 

Upon the book of life, as well ye wot ! — 

XVI. 

" Wherefore some while I bribed him to be mute, 

With bitter acorns stuffing his foul maw, 

Which barely I appeased, when some fresh bruit 

Startled me all aheap ! — and soon I saw 

The horridest shape that ever raised my awe, — 

A monstrous giant, very huge and tall, 

Such as in elder times, devoid of law. 

With wicked might grieved the primeval ball, 

Aud this was sure the deadliest of them all ! 

XVII. 

" Gaunt was he as a wolf of Lauguedoc, 
Witli bloftdy Jaws, and frost upon his f-rowii; 
So from his l)arren pnl! one lioary loik 
Over his wrinkli'd hoiit fell fai- adowu, 



20 THE PLEA OF THE 

Wellnigh to where his frosty brows did frown 
Like jagged icicles at cottage eaves ; 
And for his coronal he wore some brown 
And bristled ears gather'd from Ceres' sheaves, 
Entwined with certain sere and russet leaves. 



'■'■ And lo ! upon a mast rear'd far aloft, 
He bore a very bright and crescent blade, 
The which he waved so dreadfully, and oft, 
In meditative spite, that, sore dismay'u, 
I crept into an acorn-cup for shade ; 
Meanwhile the horrid effigy went by : 
I trow his look was dreadful, for it made 
The trembling birds betake them to the sky, 
For every leaf was lifted by his sigh. 

XIX. 

" And ever as he sigh'd, his foggy breath 
Blurr'd out the landscape like a flight of smoke : 
Thence knew I this was either dreary Death 
Or Time, who leads all creatures to his sti^oke. 
Ah wretched me ! " — Here, even as she spoke, 
The melancholy Shape came gliding in, 
And lean'd his back against an anti(jue oak. 
Folding his Avings, that were so fine and thin, 
They scarce were seen against the Dryad's skin. 

XX. 

Then what a fear seized all the little rout ! 
Look how a flock of panic'd sheep will stare — 
And huddle close — and start — and wheel about, 
Watching the roaming mongrel here and there,— 
So did that sudden Apparition scare 
All close aheap those small affrighted things ; 
Noi sought they now the safety of the air. 
As if some leaden spell withheld their wings ; 
But who can fly that ancientest of Kings ? 



■i 



MIDSUMMER FAIRIES. 



XXI. 



Whom now the Queen, with a forestalling tear 
And previous siijh, beginneth to entreat, 
BiddinjT him spare, for love, her liepjes dear: 
" Alas ! " ([uoth she, " is there no noddinj; wheat 
Ripe for thy crooked weapon, and more meet, — 
Or wither'd leaves to ravish from the tree, — 
Or crumblinoj battlements for thy defeat? 
Think but what vaunting monuments there be 
Builded in spite and mockery of thee. 

XXII. 

" O fret away the fabric walls of Fame, 
And grind down marble Csesars with the dust: 
Make tombs inscriptionless — raze each high name, 
And waste old armours of renown with rust : 
Do all of this, and thy revenge is just: 
Make such decays the trophies of thy prime, 
And check Ambition's overweening lust, 
That dares exterminating war with Time, — 
But we are guiltless of that lofty crime. 

XXIII. 

" Frail feeble sprites ! — the children of a dream f 

Leased on the sufferance of fickle men, 

Like motes dependent on the sunny beam, 

Living but in the sun's indulgent ken, 

And when that light withdraws, withdrawing 

then ; — 
So do we flutter in the glance of youth 
And fervid fancy, — an(l so perish when 
The eye of faith grows aged ; — in sad truth. 
Feeling thy sway, O Time ! though not thy tooth. 

XXIV. 

" Where be those old divinities forlorn, 
That dwelt in trees, or haunted in a stream? 
Alas ! their memories are dimm'd and torn. 



22 THE P1.EA OF THE 

Like the remainder tatters of a dream : 
So will it fare with our poor thrones, I deem ; — 
For us the same dark trench Oblivion delves, 
That holds the wastes of every human scheme. 
O spare us then, — and these our pretty elves. 
We soon, alas ! shall perish of ourselves ! " 



Now as she ended, with a sigh, to name 
Those old Olympians, scatter'd by the whirl 
Of fortune's giddy wheel and brought to shame, 
Methought a scornful and malignant curl 
Show'd on the lips of that malicious churl, 
To think what noble havocs he had made ; 
So that I fear'd he all at once would hurl 
The harmless fairies into endless shade, — 
Howbeit he stopp'd awhile to whet his blade. 



Pity it was to hear the elfins' wail 
.Rise up in concert from their mingled dread ; 
Pity it was to see them, all so pale, 
Gaze on the grass as for a dying bed ; — • 
But Puck was seated on a spider's thread, 
That hung between two branches of a briar, 
And 'gan to swing and gambol heels o'er head, 
Like any Southwark tumbler on a wire, 
For him no present grief could long inspire. 



IMeanwhile the Queen with many piteous drops, 
Falling hke tiny sparks full fast and free, 
Bedews a pathway from her throne ; — and stops 
Before the foot of her arch enemy, 
And with her little arms enfolds his knee. 
That shows more gristly from that fair embrace ; 
But she will ne'er depart. " Alas ! " quoth she, 
" JNIy painful fingers I will here enlace 
Till I have gained your pity for our race. 



MIDSUMMER FAIR IKS. 



^ What have we ever done to earn this grudge, 
And hate — (if not too humble for thy hating ?) — 
Look o'er our labors and our hves, and judge 
If there be any ills of our creating ; 
For we are very kindly creatures, dating 
AVith nature's charities still sweet and bland : — 
O think this murder worthy of debating ! " — 
Herewith she makes a signal with her hand, 
To beckon some one from the Fairy band. 

XXIX. 

Anon I saw one of those elfin things, 

Clad all in white like any chorister, 

Come fluttering forth on his melodious wings. 

That made soft music at each little stir, 

But something louder than a bee's demur 

Before he lights upon a bunch of broom, 

And thus 'gan he with Saturn to confer, — 

And O his voice was sweet, touch'd with the gloom 

Of that sad theme that argued of his doom ! 

XXX. 

Quoth he, " We make all melodies our care. 
That no false discords may offend the Sun, 
Music's great master — tuning everywhere 
All pastoral sounds and melodies, each one 
Duly to place and season, so that none 
May harshly interfere. We rouse at morn 
The shrill sweet lark ; and when the day is done. 
Hush silent pauses for the bird forlorn. 
That singeth with her breast against a thorn. 

XXXI. 

*' We gather in loud choirs the twittering race, 
That make a chorus with their single note ; 
And tend on new-fledged birds in every place. 
That duly they may get their tunes by rote ; 



24 THE PLEA OF THE 

And oft, like echoes, answering remote, 
We hide in thickets from the feather'd throng, 
And strain in rivalship each throbbing throat, 
Singing in shrill responses all day long, 
Whllst'^the glad truant listens to our song. 

XXXII. 

" Wherefore, great King of Years, as thou dost love 
The raining music.from a morning cloud, 
When vanish'd larks are carolling above, 
To wake Apollo with their pipings loud ; — 
If ever thou hast heard in leafy shroud 
The sweet and plaintive Sappho of the dell, 
Show thy sweet mercy on this Httle crowd, 
And we will muffle up the sheepfold bell 
Whene'er thou listenest to Philomel." 

XXXIII. 

Then Saturn thus : " Sweet is the merry lark, 
That carols in man's ear so clear aiid strong ; 
And youth must love to listen in the dark 
That tuneful elegy of Tereus' wrong ; 
But I have heard that ancient strain too long, 
For sweet is sweet but when a little strange. 
And I grow weary for some newer song ; 
For wherefore had I wings, unless to range 
Through all things mutable from change to change ? 

XXXIV. 

" But wouldst thou hear the melodies of Time, 
Listen when sleep and drowsy darkness roll 
Over hush'd cities, and the midnight chime 
Sounds from their hundred clocks, and deep bells 

toll 
Like a last knell over the dead world's soul. 
Saying, Time shall be final of all things, 
Whose late, last voice must elegize the whole, — 
O then I clap aloft my brave broad wings, 
And make the wide air tremble while it rinp-s ! " 



MIDSUMMER FAIRIES. 25 



XXXV. 

Then next a fair Eve-Fay made meek address, 
Saying, " We be the handmaids of the Spring, 
In sign whereof, May, the quaint broideress, 
Hath wrought her simiplers on our gauzy wing. 
AVe tend upon buds' birth and blossoming, 
And count the leafy tributes that they owe — • 
As, so muL'h to the earth, so much to fling 
In showers to the brook — so much to go 
In whirlwinds to the clouds that made *hem grow. 

XXXVI. 

" The pastoral cowslips are our little pets, 
And daisy stars, whose firmament is green ; 
Pansies, and those veil'd nuns, meek violets, 
Sighing to that warm world from which they screen ; 
And golden daffodils, pluck'd for May's Queen ; 
And lonely harebells, quaking on the heath ; 
Atid Hyacinth, long since a fair youth seen. 
Whose tuneful voice, turn'd fragrance in his breath, 
Kiss'd by sad Zephyr, guilty of his death. 

XXXVII. 

" The widow'd primrose weeping to the moon, 
And saH'ron crocus in whose chalice bright 
A cool libation hoarded for the noon 
Is kept — and she that purifies the light, 
The virgin lily, faithful to her white. 
Whereon Eve wept in Eden for her shame ; 
And the most dainty rose, Aurora's spright. 
Our every godchild, by whatever name — 
Spare us our lives, for we did nurse the same !" 

XXXVIII. 

Then that old Mower stamp'd his heel, and struck 
His hurtful scythe against the harmless gi-ound. 
Saying, ''Ye foolish imps, when am I stuck 
With gaudy buds, or like a wooev ciowu'd 



2^ THE PLEA OF THE 

Witli flow'ry chaplets, save when they are found 
Wither'd ? — Whenever have I pkick'd a rose, 
Except to scatter its vain leaves around ? 
For so all gloss of beauty I oppose, 
And briuo- decay on every flovv'r that blows. 

XXXIX. 

" Or when am I so wroth as when I view 

The wanton pride of Summer ; — how she decks 

The birth-day world with blossoms ever new, 

As if Time had not lived, and heap'd great wrecka 

Of years on years ? — O then I bravely vex 

And catch the gay Months in their gaudy plight, 

And slay them with the wreaths about their necks, 

Like foolish heifers in the holy rite, 

And raise great trophies to my ancient might 1 " 

XL. 

Then saith another, " We are kindly things. 
And like her offspring nestle with the dove, — 
Witness these hearts embroider'd on our wings, 
To show our constant patronage of love : — 
We sit at even, in sweet bow'rs above 
Lovers, and shake rich odours on the air. 
To mingle with their sighs ; and still remove 
The startling owl, and bid the bat forbear 
Their privacy, and haunt some other where. 

XLI. 

" And we are near the mother when she sits 
Beside her infant in its wicker bed ; 
And we are in the fairy scene that flits 
Across its tender brain : sweet dreams we shed, 
And whilst the tender Httle soul is fled 
Away, to sport with our young elves, the while 
We touch the dimpled cheek with roses red, 
And tickle the soft lips until they smile, 
So that their careful parents they beguile. 



"midsummer fairies. 27 



XLII. 

"■ O then, if ever thou hast breathed a vow 
At Love's dear portal, or at pale moon-rise 
Crush'd the dear curl on a regardful brow- 
That did not frown thee from thy honey prize — 
If ever thy sweet son sat on thy thiuhs, 
And wooed thee from thy eareiul thouirhts within 
To watch the harmless beauty of his eyes, 
Or glad thy fingers on his smooth soft skin, 
For Love's dear sake, let us thy pity win ! " 

XLIII. 

Then Saturn fiercely thus: " AYhat joy have I 
In tender babes, that have devour'd mine own, 
AVhenever to the light I heard them cry. 
Till foolish Rhea cheated me with stone ? 
Whereon, till now, is my great hunger shown, 
In monstrous dints of my enormous tooth ; 
And, — but the peopled world is too full grown 
For hunger's e(lge, — I would consume all youth 
At one great meal, without delay or ruth ! 

XLIV. 

" For I am wellnigh crazed and wild to hear 
How boastful fathers taunt me with their breed, 
Saying, ' We shall not die nor disappear, 
But in these other selves, ourselves succeed, 
Ev'n as ripe flowers pass into their seed 
Only to be renew'd from prime to prime,' 
All of which boastings I am forced to read, 
Besides a thousand challenges to Time 
Which blagging lovers have compiled in rhyme. 

XLV. 

" Wherefore, when they are sweetly met o' nights, 
There will I steal, and with my hurried hand 
Startle them suddenly from their delights 
Before their next encounter hath been plann'd, 



28 THE PLEA OF THE 

Ravishing hours in little minutes spann'd ; 
But when they say farewell, and grieve apart, 
Then like a leaden statue I will stand, 
Meanwliile their many tears incrust my dart, 
And with a ragged edge cut heart from heart." 

XL VI. 

Then next a merry Woodsman, clad in green, 
Stept vanward from his mates, that idly stood 
Each at his proper ease, as they had been 
Nursed in the liberty of old Sherwood, 
And wore the hvery of Robin Hood, 
Who wont in forest shades to dine and sup, — 
So came this chief right frankly, and made good 
His haunch against his axe, and thus spoke up, 
Doffing his cap, which was an acorn's cup : — 

XLVII. 

*• We be small foresters and gay, who tend 
On trees and all their furniture of green. 
Training the young boughs airily to bend. 
And show blue snatches of the sky between ; — 
Or knit more close intricacies, to screen 
Birds' crafty dwellings as may hide them best, 
But most the timid blackbird's — she, that seen, 
Will bear black poisonous berries to her nest, 
Lest man should cage the darlings of her breast. 

XLVIII. 

" We bend each tree in proper attitude, 
And founting willows train in silvery falls ; 
We frame all shady roofs and arches rude, 
And verdant aisles leading to Dryads' halls. 
Or deep recesses where the Echo calls ; — 
We shape all plumy trees against the sky. 
And carve tall elms' Corinthian capitals, — 
When sometimes, as our tiny hatchets ply. 
Men say, the tapping woodpecker is nigh. 



MIDSUMMKR FAIRIES. 20 



XLIX. 

'• Soinetimes we scoop the squirrel's hollow cell, 

And soiuetimes carve quaint letters on trees' rind, 

That haply some lone musing wight may spell 

Dainty Amlnt;i, — Gentle Rosalind, — 

Or chastest Laura, — sweetly call'd to mind 

In sylvan solitudes, ere he lies down ; — 

And sometimes we enrich gray stems, with twined 

And vagi-ant ivy, — or rich moss, whose brown 

Burns into gold as the warm sun goes down. 

L. 

" And, lastly, for-mirth's sake and Christmas cheer, 
We bear the seedling berries, for increase, 
To graft the Druid oaks, fiom year to year, 
Careful that misletoe may never cease ; — 
"Wliei-efore, if thou dost prize the shady peace 
Of sombre forests, or to see light break 
riuough sylvan cloisters, and in spring release 
Thy spirit amongst leaves from careful ake, 
Spare us our lives for the Green Dryad's sake." 

LI. 

Then Saturn, with a frown : " Go forth, and fell 

Oak for your coffins, and thenceforth lay by 

Tour axes for the rust, and bid farewell 

To all sweet birds, and the blue peeps of sky 

Through tangled branches, for ye shall not spy 

The next green generation of the tree ; 

But hence with the dead leaves whene'er they 

^Vhich in the bleak air I would rather see. 
Than flights of the most tuneful birds that be. 

LII. 

' For I dislike all prime, and verdant pets, 

(vy except, that on the aged wall 

Preys with its worm-like roots, and daily frets 



30 THE PLEA OF THE 

The crumbled tower It seems to league withal, 

King-like, worn down by its own coronal : — 

Neither in forest haunts love I to won. 

Before the golden plumage 'gins to fall. 

And leaves the brown bleak limbs with few leaves 

on, 
Or bare — like Nature in her skeleton. 

LIII. 

" For then sit I amongst the crooked boughs, 
Wooing dull Memory with kindred sighs ; 
And there in rustling nuptials we espouse, 
Smit by the sadness in each other's eyes ; — 
But Hope must have green bowers and blue skies, 
And must be courted with the gauds of spring ; 
Whilst Youth leans god-like on her lap, and cries, 
What shall we always do, but love and sing ? — 
And Time is reckon'd a discarded thing." 

LIV. 

Here in my dream it made me fret to see 
How Puck, the antic, all this dreary while 
Had blithely jested with calamity. 
With mistimed mirth mocking the doleful style 
Of his sad comrades, till it raised my bile 
To see him so reflect their grief aside, 
Turning their solemn looks to half a smile — 
Like a straight stick shown crooked in the tide ;— 
But soon a novel advocate I spied. 

LV. 

Quoth he — " We teach all natures to fulfil 

Their fore-appointed crafts, and instincts meet, — 

The bee's sweet alchemy, — the spider's skill, — 

The pismire's care to garner up his wheat, — 

And rustic masonry to swallows fleet, — 

The lapwing's cunning to preserve her nest, — 

But most, that lessor pelican, the SAveet 

And shrilly ruddock, A\ith its bleeding breast, 

Its tender pity of poor babes distrest. 



I 



MIDSUMMKR FAIRIES. 31 



Lvr. 

'* Sometimes we east onr shapes, and in sleek skins 
Delve Avith the timid mole, that aptly delves 
From our example ; so the s])ider si)ins, 
And eke the silk-worm, patteru'd by ourselves : 
Sometimes we travail on the summer shelves 
Of eai-ly bees, and busy toils conmience, 
Watch'd of wise men, that know not we are elves, 
But gaze and marvel at our stretch of sense, 
And praise our human-like intelligence. 

LVII. 

" Wherefore, by thy delight in that old tale, 
And j)lalntive dirges the late robins sing, 
What time the leaves are scattor'd by the gale, 
Mindful of that old forest burying; — 
As thou dost love to watch eaih tiny thing, 
P^or whom our craft most curiously contrives. 
If thou hast caught a bee upon the wing, 
To take his honey-bag, — spare us our lives. 
And we will pay the ransom in full hives." 

LVIII. 

" Now by my glass," quoth Time, " ye do offend 
In teaching the brown bees that careful lore, 
And frugal ants, whose millions would have end, 
But they lay up for need a timely store, 
And travail with the seasons evermore ; 
Whereas Great Mammoth long hath pass'd away, 
And none but I can tell what hide he wore ; 
Whilst purblind men, the creatures of a day, 
In riddling wonder his great bones survey." 

LIX. 

Then came an elf, right beauteous to behold. 
Whose coat was like a brookU't that the sun 
Hath all embroidcr'd with its crooked gold, 
It wrs so quaintly wrought and overrun 



,"]? THE PLEA OF THE 

With spangled traceries,-— most meet for one 
That was a warden of the pearly streams ; — 
And as he stept out of the shadoAvs dun, 
IJis jewels sparkled in the pale moon's gleams, 
And shot into the air their pointed beams. 



Quoth he, — " We bear the gold and silver keys 
Of bubbling springs and fountains, that below 
Course thro' the veiny earth, — which when they 

freeze 
Into hard crysolites, we bid to flow, 
Creeping like subtle snakes, when, as they go. 
We guide their windings to melodious falls. 
At whose soft murmurings, so sweet and low, 
Poets have tuned their smoothest madrigals, 
To sing to ladies in their banquet halls. 

LXI. 

" And when the hot sun with his steadfast heat 
Parches the river god, — whose dust}^ urn 
Drips miserly, till soon his crystal feet 
Against his pebbly floor wax faint and burn, 
And languid fish, unpoised, grow sick and yearn,— 
Then scoop we hollows in some sandy nook. 
And little channels dig, wherein we turn 
The thread-worn rivulet, that all forsook 
The Naiad-lily, pining for her brook. 

LXII. 

" Wherefore, by thy delight in cool green meads. 

With living sapphires daintily inlaid, — 

In all soft songs of waters and their reeds, — 

And all reflections in a streamlet made, 

Haply of thy own love, that, disarray'd, 

Kills the fair lily with a livelier white, — 

By silver trouts upspringing from green shade, 

And winking stars reduplicate at night, 

Spare us, poor ministers to such delight." 



• 



MIDSUMMER FAIRIKS. 33 



Lxiir. 

I lowbelt his pleading and his gentle looks 

Moved not the vSpitef ul Shade : Quoth he, '* Your 

taste 
Shoots wide of mine, for 1 despise the brooks 
And slavish rivulets that run to waste 
Tn noontide sweats, or, like poor vassals, haste 
To swell the vast dominion of the sea. 
In whose great presence I am held disgraced, 
And neighbour'd with a king that rivals me 
In ancient might and hoary majesty. 

LXIV. 

" Whei'eas I ruled in Chaos, and still keep 

The aAvful secrets of that ancient dearth, 

Before the briny fountains of the deep 

Bi-imm'd up the hollow cavities of earth; — 

I saw each trickling Sea-God at his birth, 

Each pearly Naiad with her oozy locks, 

And infant Titans of enormous girth, 

Whose huge young feet yet stumbled on the rocks, 

Stunning the early worhl with frequent shocks. 

LXV. 

" AVhere now is Titan, with his cumbrous brood, 
That scared the world ? — Bv this sharp scvthe they 

fell. 
And half the sky was curdled with their blood : 
So have all primal giants sigh'd farewell. 
No Wardens now by sedgy fountains dwell. 
Nor pearly Naiads. All their days are done 
Tliat strove with Time, untimely, to excel ; 
AVherelbre I razed their progenies, and none 
But my great shadow intercepts the sun !" 

I.XVI. 

Then saith the timid Fav — " Oh, mighty Time ! 
Well hast thou wt-ouilit the cruel Titatis' fall. 
VOL I. :'> 



34 THE PLEA OF THE 

For they were stain'd with many a blooay crime: 
Great giants work great wrongs, — but we ar» 

small, 
For love goes lowly ; — but Oppression's tall, 
And with surpassing strides goes foremost still 
Where love indeed can hardly reach at all ; 
Like a poor dwarf o'erburthen'd with good will, 
That labours to efface the tracks of ill. — 

LXVII. 

" Man even strives with Man, but we eschew 
The guilty feud, and all fierce strifes abhor ; 
Nay, we are gentle as sweet heaven's dew, 
Beside the red and horrid drops of war, 
Weeping the cruel hates men battle for, 
Which worldly bosoms nourish in our spite : 
For in the gentle breast we ne'er withdraw, 
But only when all love hath taken flight. 
And youth's warm gracious heart is harden'd quite 



" So are our gentle natures intertwined 
With sweet humanities, and closely knit 
In kindly sympathy with human kind. 
Witness how we befriend, with elfin ^vit, 
All hopeless maids and lovers, — nor omit 
Magical succours unto hearts forlorn : — 
We charm man's life, and do not perish it ; — 
So judge us by the helps we show'd this morn, 
To one who held his wretched days in scorn. 

LXIX. 

" Twas nigh sweet Amwell ; — for the Queen had 

task'd 
Our skill to-day amidst the silver Lea, 
Whereon the noontide sun had not yet bask'd; 
Wherefore some parunt man we thought to see, 
Pla^'toi Ml moss-grown rusho to Ihf kii'C. 



MlDSUMMEl! I A IK IKS. 3i> 

Reside the cloudy margin cold and dim ; — 
Jlowbeit no patient fisherman was he 
Tliat cast his sudden shadow from the brim, 
Making us leave our toils to gaze on him. 

LXX. 

•' His face was ashy pale, and leaden care 
Had sunk the levell'd arches of his brow, 
Once bridges for his joyous thoughts to fare 
Over those melancholy springs and slow. 
That f»-om his piteous eyes began to flow, 
And fell anon into the chilly stream ; 
Which, as his mimick'd image show'd below, 
Wrinkled his face with many a neer'less seam, 
Making: "rief sadder in its own esteem. 



" And lo ! upon the air we saw him stretch 
His passionate arms ; and, in a wayward strain, 
He 'gan to elegize that fellow wretch 
That with mute gestures answer'd him again, 
Saying, ' Poor slave, how long wilt thou remain 
Life's sad weak captive in a prison strong, 
Hoping with tears to rust away thy chain 
In bitter servitude to worldly wrong V — 
Thou wear'st that mortal livery too long ! * 

LXXII. 

" This, with more spleenful speeches and soi 

tears. 
When he had spent upon the imaged wave, 
Speedily I convened my elfin peers 
Under the lily-cups, that we might save 
This woful mortal from a wilful grave 
By shrewd diversions of his mind's regret. 
Seeing he wa> mere melancholy's slave, 
That sank uln'cevci- a dark chiud he met. 
And sti'aiiiht was tangled in her .^et-ret net 



36 THE PLEA OF THE 



" Therefore, as still he watch'd the water's flow, 
Daintily we transform'd, and with bright fins 
Came glancing through the gloom ; some from be- 

low 
Kose like dim fancies when a dream begins, 
Snatching the light upon their purple skins 
Then under the broad leaves made slow retire : 
One like a golden galley bravely wins 
[ts radiant course, — another glows like fire, — 
Making that wayward man our pranks admire. 

LXXIV. 

" And so he bai ish'd thought, and quite forgot 

All contemplation of that wretched face ; 

And so we wiled him from that lonely spot 

Along the river's brink ; till, by heaven's grace, 

He met a gentle haunter of the place. 

Full of sweet wisdom gather'd from the brooks, 

Who there discuss'd his melancholy case 

With wholesome texts iearn'd trom kind nature's 

books. 
Meanwhile he newly trimm'd his lines and hooks." 



Herewith the Fairy ceased. Quoth Ariel now- 
" Let me remember how I saved a man, 
Whose latal noose was fasten'd on a bough, 
Intended to abridge his sad life's span ; 
For haply I was by when he began 
His stern soliloquy in life's dispraise. 
And overheard his melancholy plan. 
How he had made a vow to end his days, 
And therefore follow'd him in ail his ways, 



" Through brake and tangled copse, for much he 
loathed 



I 



MIDSUMMER FAIRIES. 37 

All populous haunts, and i'oan\M in forosts rudi*, 
To hide hiuiself tVoui man. I-Jur I had clothod 
My delicate limbs with plumes, and still pui-sued, 
Where onl}' foxes and wild cats intrude, 
Till we were come beside an ancient tree 
Late blasted by a stoi-m. Here he renew'd 
His loud complaints, — choosing that spot to be 
The scene of his last horrid tragedy. 

LXXVII. 

*' It was a wild and melancholy glen. 
Made gloomy by tall firs and cypress dark, 
Whose roots, like any bones of buried men, 
Push'd through the rotten sod for fear's remark ; 
A hundred horrid stems, jagged and stark. 
Wrestled with crooked arms in hideous fray, 
Besides sleek ashes with their dappled bark, 
Like crafty serpents climbing for a prey, 
With many blasted oaks moss-grown and gray. 

LXXVIII. 

" But here upon his final desperate clause 
Suddenly I j)ronounced so sweet a strain, 
Like a pang'd nightingale it made him pause, 
Till half the frenzy of his grief was slain, 
The sad remainder oozing from his brain 
In timely ecstasies of healing tears, 
Which thi-ough his ardent eyes began to drain ; — 
Meanwhile the deadly Fates unclosed their 

shears : — 
So pity me and all my fated peers I " 

LXXIX. 

Thus Ariel ended, and was some time hush'd : 
When with the hoary shape a fresh tongue pleads, 
And red as rose the gentle Fairy blush'd 
To read the record of her own good deeds : — 
"It chanced," quoth she, ''in seeking through tho 
meads 



38 THE PLEA OK THE 

Foi- honeyed cowslips, sweetest in tlie morn, ^ 
Whilst yet the buds were hung with dewy beads. 
And Echo answer'd to the huntsman's horn, 
We found a babe left in the swarths forlorn. 

LXXX. 

^ " A little, sorrowful, deserted thing, 
Begot of love, and yet no love begetting ; } 
Guiltless of shame, and yet for shame to wring ; 
And too soon banish'd from a mother's petting, ^ 
To churlish nurture and the wide world's fretting, 
For alien pity and unnatural care ; — 
Alas ! to see how the cold dew kept wetting 
His childish coats, and dabbled all his hair, 
Like gossamers across his forehead fair. 

LXXXI. 

" His pretty pouting mouth, witless of speech, 
Lay half-way open like a rose-lipp'd shell ; 
And his young cheek was softer than a peach. 
Whereon his tears, for roundness,, could not 

dwell, 
But quickly roll'd themselves to pearls, and fell, 
Some on the grass, and some against his hand, 
Or haply wander'd to the dimpled well, 
Which love beside his mouth had sweetly plann'd, 
Yet not for tears, but mirth and smilings bland. 



" Pity it was to see those frequent tears 
Falling regardless from his friendless eyes ; 
There was such beauty in those twin blue spheres, 
As any mother's heart might leap to prize ; 
Blue were they, like the zenith of the skies 
Soften'd betwixt two clouds, both clear and 

mild ; — 
Just touch'd with thought, and yet not over wise, 
They show'd the gentle spirit of a child, 
Not vet bv care or any craft defiled. 



MinSU.MMKK 1 AUilES. 39 



Lxxxrir. 
•' Pity it was to see the ardent sun 
Scorching his helpless limbs — it shone so warm ; 
For kindly shade or slielter he had none, 
Nor mother's gentle breast, come fair or storm. 
Meanwhile I bade my pitying mates transform 
Like grasshoppers, and then, with shrilly cries. 
All round the infant noisily'we swarm, 
Haply some passing rustic to advise — 
Whilst providential Heaven our care espies, 

LXXXIV. 

" And sends full soon a tender-hearted hind, 
Who, wond'ring at our loud unusual note, 
Strays curiously aside, and so doth find 
The orphan child laid in the grass remote, 
And laps the foundling in his russet coat, 
Who thence was nurtured in his kindly cot: — 
But how he prosper'd let proud London quote, 
How wise, how rich, and how renown'd he got. 
And chief of all her citizens, I wot. 

LXXXV. 

" AVitness his goodly vessels on the Thames, 
Whose holds were fraught with costly merchan- 
dise, — 
Jewels from Ind, and pearls for courtly dames, 
And gorgeous silks that Samarcand supplies; 
Witness that Royal Bourse he bade arise, 
The mart of merchants from the East and West; 
Whose slender summit, pointing to the skies. 
Still bears, in token of his grateful breast, 
The tender grasshopper, his chosen crest — 



" The tender grasshopper, his chosen crest, 
That all the summer, with a tuneful wing, 
Makes merrv chirpin<rs in its srassv nest. 



40 THE PLEA OF TJIE 

Inspirited with dew to leap and sing : — 

So let us also live, eternal King ! 

Partakers of the green and pleasant earth : — 

Pity it is to slay the meanest thing, 

That, like a mote, shines in the smile of mirth : — 

Enough there is of joy's decrease and dearth ! 

LXXXVII. 

" Enough of pleasure, 'and delight, and beauty, 

Perish'd and gone, and hasting to decay ; — 

Enough to sadden even thee, whose duty 

Or spite it is to havoc and to slay : 

Too many a lovely race razed quite away, 

Hath left large gaps in life and human loving : — 

Here then begin thy cruel war to stay, 

And spare fresh sighs, and tears, and groans, 

reproving 
Thy desolating hand for our removing." 

LXXXVIII. 

Now here I heard a shrill and sudden cry, 

And looking up, I saw the antic Puck 

Grappling with Time, who clutch'd him like a fly, 

Victim of his own sport, — the jester's luck ! 

He, whilst his fellows grieved, poor wight, had 

stuck 
His freakish gauds upon the Ancient's brow. 
And now his ear, and now his beard, would pluck 
Whereas the angry churl had snatch'd him now, 
Crying, " Thou impish mischief, who art thou ? '* 

LXXXIX. 

" Alas ! " quoth Puck, " a little random elf, 

Born in the sport of nature, like a weed, » 

For simple sweet enjoyment of myself, ; JH 

But for no other purpose, worth, or need ; -^ 

And yet withal of a most happy breed ; 

And there is Robin Goodfellow besides, 

My partner dear in many a prankish deed 



MIDSUM.MKIJ 1 AlKIKS. 41 

To make dame Laniilitcr hold h or jolly sides, 
Like merry nmmmers twain ou holy tides. 

xc. 
" 'Tis we that hob the angler's idle eoi-k. 
Till e'en the patient nicin breathes half a curse; 
We steal the morsel from the gossip's fork, 
And curdling looks with secret straws disperse, 
Or stop the sneezing chanter at mid verse : 
And when an infant's beauty prospers ill, 
We change, some mothers say, the child at nurse. 
But any graver purpose to fulfil, 
We have not wit enough, and scarce the will. 

xci. 
" We never let the canker melancholy 
To gather on our faces like a rust, 
But gloss our features with some change of follv. 
Taking life's fabled miseries on trust. 
But only sorrowing when sorrow must: 
^V^e ruminate no sage's solemn cud, 
But own ourselves a pinch of lively dust 
To frisk upon a wind, — whereas the flood 
Of tears would turn us into heavy mud. 

XCII. 

" Beshrew those sad interpreters of nature, 

Who gloze her lively universal law, 

As if she had not form'd our cheerful feature 

To be so tickled with the slightest straw ! 

So let them vex their mumping mouths, and draw 

Ihe corners downward, like a wat'ry moon, 

And deal in gusty sighs and rainy flaw — 



We will not woo foul weather all too soon 
Or nurse November on the lap of June. 



XCIII. 

"For ours are wii>ging sprites, like any bird. 
That shun all staixnant settlements of urief; 



4 2 THE PLEA OF THE 

Aiul even in our rest our hearts are stirr'd, 
Like insects settled on a dancing leaf: — 
This is our small philosophy in brief, 
^Vhich thus to teach hath set me all agape : 
But dost thou relish it? O hoary chief! 
Unclasp thy crooked fingers from my nape, 
And I will show thee many a pleasant scrape.** 

xciv. 

Then Saturn thus : — shaking his crooked blade 
O'erhead, which made aloft a lightning flash 
In all the fairies' eyes, dismally fray'd ! 
His ensuing voice came hke the thunder crash- 
Meanwhile the bolt shatters some pine or ash — 
" Thou feeble, wanton, foolish, fickle thing ! 
Whom nought can frighten, sadden, or abash, — 
To hope my solemn countenance to wring 
To idiot smiles ! — but. I will prune thy wing ! 



" Lo ! this most awful handle of my scythe 
Stood once a May-pole, with a flowery crown. 
Which rustics danced around, and maidens blithe, 
To wanton pipings ; — but I pluck'd it down, 
And robed the May Queen in a churchyard 

^ gown. 
Turning her buds to rosemary and rue ; 
And all their merry minstrelsy did drown, 
And laid each lusty leaper in the dew ; — 
So thou shalt fare — and every jovial crew ! " 

XCVI. 

Here he lets go the struggling imp, to clutch 
His mortal engine with each grisly hand, 
Which frights the elfin progeny so much, 
They huddle in a heap, and trembling stand 
All round Titania, like the queen bee's band. 
With sighs and tears and very shrieks of woe ! — 
Meanwhile, some moving argument I plann'd 



mii>si:mmi:i; iaiiup:s. 43 

To make the. stern Shade merciful, — when lo ! 
He drops his fatal scythe without a blow ! 

XCVII. 

For, just at need, a timely Apparition 

Steps in between, to bear the awful brunt ; 

]\Iaking- him change his liorrible position, 

To marvel at this comer, brave and blunt, 

That dares Time's irresistible aifront, 

Whose strokes have scarr'd even the gods of old ;— . 

Whereas this seem'd a mortal, at mere hunt 

For coneys, lighted by the moonshine cold, 

Or stalker of stray deer, stealthy and bold 

XCVIII. 

Who, turning to the small assembled fays, 
Doffs to the lily queen his courteous cap. 
And holds her beauty for a while in gaze. 
With bright eyes kindling at this pleasant hap; 
And thence upon the fair moon's silver map, 
As if in question of this magic chance. 
Laid like a dream upon the green earth's lap ; 
And then upon old Saturn turns askance, 



" Oh, these be Fancy's revellers by night ! 
Stealthy companions of the downy moth — 
Diana's motes, that flit in her pale light, 
Shunners of sunbeams in diurnal sloth; — 
These be the feasters on night's silver cloth, — 
I'he gnat with shrilly trump is their convener. 
Forth from their flowery chambers, nothing loth, 
^Vith lulling tunes to charm the air serener. 
Or dance upon the grass to make it greener. 

c. 

" These be the pretty genii of the flow'rs. 
Daintily fed with honey and pure dew — 



44 TlIK FLKA OF THE 

Midsummer's pliantoms in her dreaming lioars, 

King Oberon, and all his merry crew, 

'riiedarling puppets of romance's view ; 

Fairies, and sprites, and goblin elves we call thera 

Famous for patronage of lovers true ; — 

No harm they act, neither shall harm befall them-. 

So do not thus with crabbed frowns appall them/' 



O what a cry was Saturn's then ! — it made 

The fairies quake. " What care I for their pranks, 

However they may lovers choose to aid. 

Or dance their roundelays on flow'ry banks ? — 

Long must they dance before they earn my 

thanks, — 
So step aside, to some far safer spot, 
Whilst with my hungry scythe I mow their ranks, 
And leave them In the sun, like weeds, to rot, 
And with the next day's sun to be forgot." 



Anon, he raised afresh his weapon keen ; 
But still the gracious Shade disarm'd his aim, 
Stepping with brave alacrity between, 
And made his sere arm pov/erless and tame. 
His be perpetual glory, for the shame 
Of hoary Saturn in that grand defeat ! — . 
But I must tell, how here Titania came 
AVith all her kneeling heges, to entreat 
His kindly succour, in sad tones, but sweet. 

cm. 

Saying, "Thou scest a wretched queen before thee 

The fading power of a failing land, 

Who for her kingdom kneeleth to implore thee, 

Now menaced by this tyrant's spoiling hand ; 

No one but thee can hopefully withstand 

That crooked blade, he longeth so to lift. 

I pray thee blind him with his own vile sand. 



IVn.OSU.MMER FAIRIKS. ' 45 

\Vhicli only tiiiios all ruins by its drift, 
()?• pruny his eaijle wings that are so swift. 

CIV. 

•' Or take him by that sole and firizzled tuft, 
That hangs upon his bald and barren crown ; 
And we Avill sinor to see him so rebuff'd, 
And lend our little mights to pull him down, 
And make brave sport of his malicious frown, 
For all his boastful mockery o'er men. 
For thou wast born T know for this j'enown, 
Bv my most magical and inward ken, 
That readeth ev'n at Fate's forestalling pen. 

cv. 
*' Nay, by the gohlen lustre of thine eye, 
And by thy brow's most fair and ample span, 
Thought's glorious palace, framed for fancies high, 
And by thy cheek thus passionately Avan, 
J know tlie signs of an immortal man, — 
Nature's chief darlinfr, an<l illustrious mate. 
Destined to foil old Death's oblivious plan. 
And shine untarnish'd by the fogs of Fate, 
Time's iamous rival till the final date ! 

cvi. 
" O shield us then from this usurping Time, 
And we will visit thee in moonlight dreams; 
And teach thee tunes, to wed unto thy rhyme, 
And dance about thee in all midnight gleams, 
Giving thee glimpses of our magic schemes, 
Such as no mortal's eye hath ever seen ; 
And, for thy love to us in our extreines. 
Will ever keep thy chaplet fresh and green. 
Such dbS no poet's wreath hath ever been ! 

nvii. 
*' And we'll distil thee aromatic dews, 
To charm thy sense, when theic shall hv 0€ 
flow'rs : 



46 THE I'LEA OF THK 

And flavour'd syrups in thy drinks infuse, 
And teach the nightingale to haunt thy bow'ra, 
And with our games divert thy weariest hours, 
With all that elfin wits can e'er devise. 
And, this churl dead, there '11 be no hasting hour? 
To rob thee of thy joys, as now joy flies : "— 
Here she was stopp'd by Saturn's furious cries. 

CVIII. 

Whom, therefore, the kind Shade rebukes anew, 
Saying, " Thou haggard Sin, go forth, and scoop 
Thy hollow coffin in some churchyard yew, 
Orjnake th' autumnal flow'rs turn pale, and droop 
Or fell the bearded corn, till gleaners stoop 
Under M sheaves,— or blast the piny grove ; — 
But here thou shalt hot harm this pretty group, 
Whose Hves are not so frail and feebly wove, 
But leased on Nature's loveUness and love. 

CIX. 
" 'Tis these that free the small entangled fly, 
Caught in the venom'd spider's crafty snare ; — 
These be the petty surgeons that apply 
The healing balsams to the wounded hare, 
Bedded in bloody fern, no creature's care ! — 
These be providers for the orphan brood, 
Whose tender mother hath been slain in air, 
Quitting with gaping bill her darlings' food, 
Hard by the verge of her domestic wood. 

ex. 
" 'Tis these befriend the timid trembling stag, 
When, with the bursting heart beset with fears, 
He feels his saving speed begin to flag ; 
For then they quench the fatal taint with tears, 
And prompt fi-esh shifts in his alarum'd ears, 
So piteoiisly they view all bloody morts ; 
Or if the gunner, with his arm, appears, 
luikc noisy jjyes and jaj s, witli harsh reports. 
They warn the wild tbwl of his deadly sports. 



MIDSUMMER FAIRIKS. \f 



CXI. 

" For these are kindly ministers of nature, 
To soothe all covert hurts and dumb distress ; 
Pretty they be, and very small of stature, — 
For mercy still consorts with littleness; — 
Wherefore the sum of good is still the less, 
And mischief grossest in this world of wi*ong ; — 
So do these charitable dwarfs redress 
The tenfold ravages of giants strong. 
To whom great malice and great might belonor. 



" Likewise to them are Poets much beholden 
For secret favours in the midnight glooms ; 
Brave Spenser quaff 'd out of their goblets golden, 
And saw their tables spread of prompt mushrooms, 
And heard their horns of honeysuckle blooms 
Sounding upon the air most soothing soft, 
Like humming bees busy about the brooms, — 
And glanced this fair queen's witchery full oft, 
And in her magic wain soar'd far aloft 

CXIII. 

*' Nay I myself, though mortal, once was nursed 
By fairy gossips, friendly at my birth. 
And in my childish ear glib Mab rehearsed 
Her breezy travels round our planet's girth. 
Telling me wonders of the moon and earth ; 
My gramarye at her grave lap I conn'd. 
Where Puck hath been convened to make me mirth ; 
I have had from Queen Titania tokens fond, 
And toy'd with Oberon's permitted wand. 

CXIV. 

" With figs and plums and Persian dates they fed 

me. 
And delicate cates after my sunset meal, 
And took me by my childish hand, and lud me 



4« THE PLEA OF TTTF, 

bv crairsy rocks crested with keeps of steel, 
Whose awful bases deep dark woods conceal, 
Staining some dead lake with their verdant dyes : 
And when the West sparkled at Phosbns' wheel, 
With fairy euphrasy they purged mine eyes, 
To let me see their cities in the skies. 

cxv. 

" 'Twas they first school'd my young imagination 
To take its flights like any new-fledged bird, 
And show'd the span of winged meditation 
Stretch'd wider than things grossly seen or heard. 
With sweet swift Ariel how I soar'd and stirr'd 
Tiie fragrant blooms of spiritual bow'rs ! 
'Twas they endear'd what I have still preferr'd, 
Nature's blest attributes and balmy pow'rs, 
Her hills and vales and brooks, sweet birds and 
llow'rs ! 

CXVI. 

" Wherefore with all true loyalty and duty 

Will I regard them in my honouring rhyme. 

With love for love, and homages to beauty, 

And magic thoughts gather'd in night's cool clime, 

AVith studious verse trancing the tlragon Time, 

Strong as old Merhn's neci-omantic spells ; 

So these dear monarchs of the summer's prime 

Shall live unstartled by his dreadful yells, 

Till shrill larks warn them to their flowery cells.'* 

CXVII. 

Ijook how a poison'd man turns livid black, 
Drugg'd with a cup of deadly hellebore, 
Til at sets his horrid features all at rack, — 
So seem'd these words into the ear to pour 
Of ghastly Saturn, answering with a roar 
Of mortal pain and spite and utmost rage, 
Wlu'rewith his grisly arm he raised onre more, 
And badtj the ckister'd siiu^Avs all cngagt-, 
As it at one fell stroke to wreck an tiue. 



MIDSUMMER FAIRIES. VJ 



CXVIII. 

Whereas the blade flash'd on the dinted ground, 
Down through his steadfast foe, yet made no scar 
On that immortal Shade, or death-like Avound ; 
But Time was long benumbVl, and stood ajar, 
And then with baflled rage took flight afar, 
To weep his hurt in some Cimmerian gloom. 
Or meaner fames (like mine) to mock and mar, 
Or sharp his scythe for royal strokes of doom, 
Whetting its edge on some old Caesar's tomb. 

CXIX. 

Howbeit he vanish'd in the forest shade, 
Distantly heard as if some grumbling pard, 
And, like Narcissus, to a sound decay'd ; — 
Meanwhile the foys cluster'd the gracious Bard, 
The darling centre of their dear regard : 
Besides of sundry dances on the green. 
Never was mortal man so brightly starr'd, 
Or won such pretty homages, I ween. 
" Nod to him, Elves ! " cries the melodious queen. 



" Nod to him, Elves, and flutter round about him, 
And quite inclose him with your pretty ci'owd, 
And touch him lovingly, for that, without him. 
The silk-woi'm now had spun our dreary shroud *,— 
But he hath all dispersed death's tearful cloud. 
And Time's dread efligy scared quite away : 
Bow to him then, as though to me ye V>ow'd, 
And his dear wishes prosper and obey 
Wherever love and wit can find a way ! 

CXXI. 

" 'Noint him with fairy dews of magic savours. 
Shaken from oi-ieiit buds still pejirly wet, 
Rchses and spiey pinks, — and, of all favours, 
Plant in his walks the purple violet, 

V«»L 1. 4 



50 THE PLEA OF THE 

And meadow-sweet under the hedges set, 
To mingle breaths with dainty eglantine 
And honeysuckles sweet, — nor yet forget 
Some pastoral flowery chaplets to entwine, 
To vie the thoughts about his brow benign ! 

CXXII. 

" Let no wild things astonish him or fear him, 
But tell them all how mild he is of heart, 
Till e'en the timid hares go frankly near him, 
And eke the dappled does, yet never start ; 
Nor shall their fawns into the thickets dart. 
Nor wrens forsake their nests among the leaves, 
Nor speckled thrushes flutter far apart ; — 
But bid the sacred swallow haunt his eaves, 
To guard his roof from lightning and trom thieves. 

CXXIII. 

" Or when he goes the nimble squirrel's visitor, 
Let the brown hermit bring his hoarded nuts. 
For, tell him, this is Nature's kind Inquisitor, — 
Though man keeps cautious doors that conscience 

shuts, 
'For conscious wrong all curious quest rebuts, — ■ 
Nor yet shall bees uncase their jealous stings, 
However he may watch their straw-built huts ; — 
So let him learn the crafts of all small things. 
Which he will hint most aptly when he sings." 



Here she leaves off, and with a graceful hand 
Waves thrice three splendid circles round his heaJ; 
Which,, though deserted by the radiant wand, 
Wears still the glory which her waving shed, 
Such as erst crown'd the old Apostle'shead, 
To show the thoughts there harbour'd were divine, 
And on immortal contemplations fed : — 
Goodly it was to see that glory shine 
Around a brow so lofty and benign ! — 



MIDSUMMER FAIRIES. 51 



CXXV. 

Goodly it was to see the elfin brood 
Contend for kisses of his gentle hand, 
That had their mortal enemy withstood, 
And stay'd their lives, fast ebbing with tlie sand. 
Long while this strife engaged the pretty band ; 
But now bold Chanticleer, from farm to farm, 
Cballeng'd the dawn creeping o'er eastern land, 
And well the fairies knew that shrill alarm, 
Which sounds the knell of every elfish charm. 

CXXVI. 

And soon the rolling mist, that 'gan arise 
From plashy mead and undiscover'd stream 
Earth's morning incense to the early skies, 
Crept o'er the tailing landscape of my dream. 
Soon faded then the Phantom of my theme — 
A shapeless shade, that fancy disavoAv'd, 
And shrank to nothing in the mist extreme. 
Then flew Titania, — and her little crowd, 
Like flocking linnets, vanish'd in a cloud. 



HERO AND LEANDER. 
1827. 



!S. T. COLERIDGE. 

It Is not with a hope my feeble praise 

Can add one moment's honour to thy own, 

That with thy mighty name I grace these lays; 

I seek to glorify myself alone : 

For that some precious favour thou hast shown 

To my endeavour in a bygone time, 

And by this token, I would have it known 

Thou art my friend, and friendly to my rhyme! 

It is my dear ambition now to climb 

Still higher in thy thought, — if my bold pen 

May thrust on contemplations more sublime. — 

Bui I am thirsty for thy praise, for when 

"We gain applauses from the great in name, 

We seem to be partakers of their fame. 



HERO AND LEANDER. 



Oh Bards of old ! what sorrows have ye sung, 
And traffic stories, chronicled in stone, — 
Sad Philomel restored her ravish'd tongue, 
And transform'd Niobe in dumbness shown ; 
Sweet Sappho on her love for ever calls. 
And Hero on the drown'd Leander falls ! 

II. 
Was it that spectacles of sadder plights 
Should make our blisses relish the more high V 
Then all fair dames, and maidens, and true knights, 
Whose flourish'd fortunes prosper in Love's eye, 
Weep here, unto a tale of ancient grief, 
Traced from the course of an old bas-relief. 

III. 

There stands Abydos ! — here is Sestos' steep, 
Hard by the gusty margin of the sea. 
Where sprinkling waves continually do leap ; 
And that is where those famous lovers be, 
A bullded gloom shot up into the gray, 
As if the first tall watch-tow'r of the day. 

IV. 

Lo ! how the lark soars upward and is gone ; 
Turning a spirit as he nears the sky, 
His voice is heard, though body there is none. 
And rain-like music s(;atters from on high ; 



66 HERO AND LEANDEK. 

But Love would follow with a falcon spite, 
To pluck the minstrel from his dewy height. 

V. 

For Love hath framed a ditty of regrets, 
Tuned to the hollow sobbings on the shore, 
A vexing sense, that with like music frets, 
And chimes this dismal burthen o'er and o'er, 
Saying, Leander's joys are past and spent, 
lake stars extinguish'd in the firmament. 

For ere the golden crevices of morn 

Let in those regal luxuries of light, 

Which all the variable east adorn. 

And hang rich fringes on the skirts of night, 

Leander, weaning from sweet Hero's side, 

Must leave a widow where he found a bride. 



Hark ! how the billows beat upon the sand ! 
Like pawing steeds impatient of delay ; 
Meanwhile their rider, Hng'ring on the land, 
Dallies with love, and holds farewell at bay 
A too short span. — ^^How tedious slow is grief! 
But parting renders time both sad and brief. 

VIII. 

" Alas (he sigh'd), that this first glimpsing light, 
Which makes the wide world tenderly appear, 
Should be the burning signal for my flight 
From all the world's best image, which is here ; 
Whose very shadow, in my fond compare, 
Shines far more bright than Beauty's self else- 
where. 

IX. 

Their cheeks are white as blossoms of the dark, 
Whose leaves close up and show the outward pale, 



HERO AND LEANDER. 57 

And those fair mirrors where their joys did 

spark, 
All dim and tarnish'd with a dreary veil, 
No more to kindle till the night's return. 
Like stars replenigh'd at Joy's golden urn. 

X. 

Ev'n thus they creep into the spectral gray, 
That cramps the landscape in its narrow brim, 
As when two shadows by old Lethe stray, 
He clasping her, and she entwining him ; 
Like trees wind-parted that embrace anon, 
True love so often goes before 'tis gone. 

XI. 

For what rich merchant but will pause in fear, 
To trust his wealth to the unsafe abyss ? 
80 Hero dotes upon her treasure here, 
And sums the loss with many an anxious kiss. 
Whilst her fond eyes gi-ovv dizzy in her head, 
Fear aggravating fear with shows of dread. 



She thinks how 

drown'd. 
And spies their 

deep, 

Then calls huge congregated monsters round, 
And plants a rock Avherever he would leap ; 
Anon she dwells on a fantastic dream, 
Which she interprets of that fatal stream. 

XIII. 

Saying, " That honey'd fly I saw was thee. 
Which lighted on a water-lily's cup. 
When, lo ! the flow'r, enamour'd of my bee. 
Closed on him suddenly and lock'd him up. 
And he was smother'd in her drenching dew; 
Therefore this day thy drowning I shall rue." 



XII. 








many have 


! been 


sunk 


and 


snow-white 


bones 


below 


the 



5M HERO AND LEANDER. 



XIV. 

But next, remembering her virgin fame, 

She clips him in her arms and bids him go, 

But seeing him break loose, repents her shame, 

And plucks him back upon her bosom's snow ; 

And tears unfix her iced resolve again, 

As steadfast frosts are thaw'd by show'rs of rain. 

XV. 

i O for a type of parting! — Love to love 
Is like the fond attraction of two spheres, 
Which needs a godUke effort to remove. 
And then sink down their sunny atmospheres, 
In rain and darkness on each ruin'd heart. 
Nor yet their melodies will sound apart. ] 

XVI. 

So brave Leander sunders from his bride ; 

The wrenching pang disparts his soul in twain ; 

Half stays with her, half goes towards the tide, — 

And life must ache, until they join again. 

Now wouldst thou know the wideness of the 

wound, 
Mete every step he takes upon the ground. 

XVII. 

And for the agony and bosom-throe. 

Let it be measured by the wide vast air. 

For that is infinite, and so is woe. 

Since parted lovers breathe it everywhere. 

Look how it heaves Leander's labouring chest, 

Panting, at poise, upon a rocky crest 1 

XVIII. 

From which he leaps into the scooping brine, 
That shocks his bosom with a double chill ; 
Because, all hours, till the slow sun's decline, 
That cold divorcer will betwixt them still ; 



HEIIO AND LEANDER. 59 

Wherefore he likens it to Styx' foul tide, 
Where life grows death upon the other side. 

XIX. 

Then sadly he confronts his twofold toil 
Against rude waves and an unwilling mind, 
AVishing, alas ! with the stout rower's toil, 
That like a rower he might gaze behind, 
And watch that lonely statue he hath left 
On her bleak summit, weeping and bereft ! 

XX. 

Yet turning oft, he sees her troubled locks 
Pursue him still the furthest that they may ; 
Her marble arms that overstretch the rocks, 
And her pale passion'd hands that seem to pray 
In dumb petition to the god's above : 
Love prays devoutly when it prays for love ! 

XXI. 

Then with deep sighs he blows away the wave, 
That hangs superfluous tears upon his cheek, 
And bans his labour like a hopeless slave, 
That, chain'd in hostile galley, faint and weak, 
Plies on despairing through the restless foam. 
Thoughtful of his lost love, and far-off home. 

XXII. 

The drowsy mist before him chill and dank, 

Like a dull lethargy o'erleans the sea, 

When he rows on against the utter blank, 

Steering as if to dim eternity, — 

Like Love's frail ghost departing with the dawn y 

A failing shadow in the twilight drawn. 

XXIII. 

And soon is gone, — or nothing but a faint 
And failing image in the eye of thought, 
That mocks his model with an aftei-palnt. 



GO UERO AND LEANDEIi. 

And stains an atom like the shape she sought; 
Then with her earnest vows she hopes to fee 
The old and hoary majesty of sea. 

XXIV. 

" O King of waves, and brother of high Jove, 
Preserve my sumless venture there afloat ; 
A woman's heart, and its whole wealth of love, 
Are all embark'd upon that little boat ; 
Nay, but two loves, two lives, a double fate, 
A perilous voyage for so dear a freight. 



" If impious mariners be stain'd with crime. 
Shake not in awful rage thy hoary locks ; 
Lay by thy storms until anotho.r time. 
Lest my frail bark be dash'd against the rocks : 
O rather smooth thy deeps, that he may fly 
Like Love himself, upon a seeming sky ! 

XXVI. 

" Let all thy herded monsters sleep beneath, 

Nor gore him with crook'd tusks, or wreathed 

horns ; 
Let no fierce sharks destroy him with their teeth, 
Nor spine-fish wound him with their venom'd 

thorns ; 
But if he faint, and timely succour lack, 
Let ruthful dolphins rest him on their back. 

XXVII. 

" Let no false dimpling whirlpools suck him in. 
Nor slimy quicksands smother his sweet breath ; 
Let no jagg'd corals tear his tender skin. 
Nor mountain billows bury him in death;" — 
And with that thought forestalling her own 

fears, 
Sh3 drown'd his painted image in her tears. 



HERO AND LEAXDER. 61 



XXVIII. 

By this, the climbing sun, with rest repair'd, 
Look'd through the gold embrasures of" the sky, 
And ask'd the drowsy world how she had fared ;- 
The drowsy world shone brighten'd in reply ; 
And smiling off her fogs, his slanting beam 
Spied young Leander in the middle stream. 

XXIX. 

His fiice was pallid, but the hectic morn 
Had hung a lying crimson on his cheeks, 
And slanderous sparkles in his eyes forlorn ; 
So death lies ambush'd in consumptive streaks ; 
But inward grief was writhing o'er its task. 
As heart-sick jesters weep behind the mask. 

XXX. 

He thought of Hero and the lost delight, 
Her last embracings, and the space between , 
He thought of Hero and the future night. 
Her speechless rapture and enamour'd mien, 
When, lo ! before him, scarce two galleys' space, 
His thouijht's confronted with another face ! 



Her aspect's like a moon divinely fair, 
But makes the midnight darker that it lies on ; 
'Tis so beclouded with her coal-black hair 
That densely skirts her luminous horizon, 
Making her doubly fair, thus darkly set, 
As marble lies advantaged upon jet. 

XXXII. 

She's all trx) bright, too argent, and too pale, 

To be a woman ; — but a woman's double, 

Rt'llested on the wave so faint and frail. 

She \()\}S the billows like an air-blown bubble ; 

Or dim creation (jf a morning dream, 

Fair as the wave-bleach'd lily of the stream. 



G2 HERO AXD LEANDER. 



The very rumour strikes his seeing dead : 

Great beauty like great fear first stuns the sens« : 

He knows not if her lips be blue or red, 

Nor of her eyes can give true evidence : 

Like murder's witness swooning in the court, 

His sight falls senseless by its own report. 

XXXIV. 

Anon resuming, it declares her eyes 

Are tinct with azure, like two crystal wells 

That drink the blue complexion of the skies, 

Or pearls outpeeping from their silvery shells . 

Her polish'd brow, it is an ample plain, 

To lodge vast contemplations of the main. 

XXXV. 

Her lips might corals seem, but corals near, 
Stray through her hair like blossoms on a bower i 
And o'er the weaker red still domineer, 
And make it pale by tribute to more power ; 
Her rounded cheeks are of still paler hue, 
Touch'd by the bloom of water, tender blue. 

XXXVI. 

Thus he beholds her rocking on the water, 
Under the glossy umbrage of her hair. 
Like pearly Amphitrite's fairest daughter, 
Naiad, or Nereid, or Syren fair, 
Mislodging music in her pitiless breast, 
A nightingale within a falcon's nest. 

XXXVII. 

They say there be such maidens in the deep, 
Charming poor mariners, that all too near 
By mortal lullabies fall dead asleep, 
As drowsy men are poison'd through the ear ; 
Therefore Leander's fears begin to urge, 
Tliis snowy swan is come to sino- his dir;r<'- 



HERO AND LEAXDER. G? 



XXXVIII. 

At which he falls into a deadly chill, 
And strains his eyes upon her lips apart ; 
Fearing each breath to feel that prelude s's '-''', 
Pierce through his marrow, like a l)realii-lMO\vr 

dart 
Shot sudden from an Indian's hollow cane. 
With mortal venom fraught, and fiery pain. * 

XXXIX. 

Here then, poor wretch, how he begins to crowd 
A thousand thoughts within a pulse's space ; 
There seem'd so brief a pause of life allowed, 
His mind stretch'd universal, to embrace 
The whole wide world, in an extreme farewell, — 
A moment's musino[ — but an a^e to tell. 

XL. 

For there stood Hero, widow'd at a glance, 

The foreseen sum of many a tedious fact. 

Pale cheeks, dim eyes, and wither'd countenance, 

A wasted ruin that no wasting lack'd ; 

Time's tragic consequents ere time began, 

A world of sorrow in a tear-drop's s})an. 

XLI. 

A moment's thinking is an hour in words, — 
An hour of words is little for some woes ; 
Too little breathing a long life aifords, 
For love to paint itself by perfect shows ; 
Then let his love and grief unwrong'd lie dumb, 
Whilst Fear, and that it fears, together come. 

XLII. 

As when the crew, hard by some jutty cape, 
Struck pale and panic'd by the billows' roar. 
Lay by all timely measures of escape, 
And let their bark go driving on the shore ; 



64 HERO AND LEANDER. 

So fray'd Leander, drifting to his wreck, 
Gazing on Scylla, falls upon her neck. 



For he hath all forgot the swimmer's art, 
The rower's cunning, and the pilot's skill, 
Letting his arms fall down in languid part, 
Sway'd by the waves, and nothing by his will, 
Till soon he jars against that glossy skin. 
Solid like glass, though seemingly as thin. 

XLIV. 

Lo ! how she startles at the warning shock 
And straightway girds him to her radiant breast, 
More like his safe smooth harbour than his rock ; 
Poor wretch, he is so faint and toil-opprest. 
He cannot loose him from his grappling foe. 
Whether for love or hate, she lets not go. 

XLV. 

His eyes are blinded with the sleety brine. 
His ears are deafen'd with the wildering noise ; 
He asks the purpose of her fell design, 
But foamy waves choke up his struggling voice ; 
Under the ponderous sea his body dips, 
And Hero's name dies bubbling on his lips. 

XI. VI. 

Look how a man is lower'd to his grave ; 
A yearning hollow in the green earth's lap ; 
So he is sunk into the yawning wave, 
The plunojing sea fills up the watery gap; 
Anon he is all gone, and nothing seen. 
But likeness of green turf and hillocks green 

XL VII 

And where he swam, the constant sun lies sleeping, 
Over the verdant plain that makes his bed ; 
A.nd all the noisy waves go freshly leaping, 



HERO AND LEANDEIt. 65 

Like gamesome boys over the churchyard dead; 
The light in vain keeps looking for his face, 
Now screaming sea-fowl settle in his place. 

XL VIII. 

Yet weep and watch for him, though all in vain 1 
Ye moaning billows, seek him as ye wander I 
Ye gazing sunbeams, look for him again ! 
Ye winds, grow hoarse with asking for Leanderl 
Ye did but spare him for more cruel rape, 
Sea-storm and ruin in a female shape ! 

XLIX. 

She says 'tis love hath bribed her to this deed, 
The glancing of his eyes did so bewitch her. 
O bootless theft! unprofitable meed ! 
Love's treasury is sack'd, but she no richer ; 
The sparkles of his ayes are cold and dead, 
And all his iroldeii looks are turii'd to lea-l I 



She holds the casket, but her simple hand 
[lath spill'd its dearest jewel by the way ; 
She hath life's empty gaiment at command. 
But lier own death lies covert in the prey ; 
As H' a thief should steal a tainted vest. 
Some dead man's spoil, and sicken of his pest. 

LI. 

Now she compels him to her deeps below, 
Hiding his face beneath her plenteous hair, 
Which jealously she shakes all round her brow, 
For dread of envy, though no eyes are there 
But seals', and all brute tenants of the deep. 
Which heedless through the wave their journey^ 
keep. 

LII. 

Down and still downward through the dusky green 
She bore him, murmuring with joyous haste 

VOL I. 6 



66 HERO AND LEAXDER. 

In too rash ignorance, as he had been 

Born to the texture of that watery waste ; 

That which she breathed and sigh'd, the emerald 

wave, 
IIow could her pleasant home become his grave I 

LIII. 

Down and still downward through the dusky 

green 
She bore her treasure, with a face too nigh 
To mark how hfe was alter'd in its mien, 
Or how the light grew torpid in his eye, 
Or how his pearly breath, unprison'd there, 
Flew up to join the universal air. 

LIV. 

She could not miss the throbbings of his heart, 
Whilst her own pulse so wanton'd in its joy ; 
She could not guess he struggled to depart, 
And when he strove no more the hapless boy I 
She read his mortal stillness for content, 
Feehng no fear where only love was meant. 

LV. 

Soon she alights upon her ocean-floor, 

And straight unyokes her arms from her fair 

prize; 
Then on his lovely face begins to pore, 
As if to glut her soul ; — her hungry eyes 
Have gi-own so jealous of her arms' delight ; 
It seems, she hath no other sense but sight. 

LVI. 

But O sad marvel ! O most bitter strange ! 
What dismal magic makes his cheek so pale ? 
Why will he not embrace, — why not exchange 
Her kindly kisses ; — wherefore not exhale 
Some odorous message from life's rubv gates, 
Where she his first sweet embassy aw;iits '^ 



HERO AXD LEANDER. 67 



LVII. 

Her eyes, poor watchers, fix'd upon his looks, 
Are grappled with a wonder near to grief, 
As one, who pores on undecipher'd books, 
Strains vain surmise, and dodges with belief; 
So she keeps gazing with a mazy thought, 
Framing a thousand doubts that end in nouorht. 

LVIII. 

Too stern inscription for a page so young, 
The dark translation of his look was death ! 
But death was written in an alien tongue. 
And learning was not by to give it breath ; 
So one deep woe sleeps buried in its seal. 
Which Time, untimely, hasteth to reveal. 

LIX. 

Meanwliile she sits unconscious of her hap, 
Nursing Death's marble effigy, which there 
With heavy head lies pillow'd in her lap. 
And elbows all unhinged ; — his sleeking hair 
Creeps o'er her knees, and settles where his hand 
Leans with lax fingers crook'd against the sand ; 



And there lies spread in many an oozy trail, 
Like glossy weeds hung from a chalky base. 
That shows no whiter than his brow is pale ; 
So soon the wintry death had bleach'd his face 
Into cold marble, — with blue chilly shades, 
Showing wherein the freezy blood pervades. 

LXI. 

And o'er his steadfast cheek a furrow'd pain 
Ilath set, and stitfen'd like a storm in ice, 
Showing by drooping lin«^s tin* (K'adly slr.iln 
Of mortal anguish ; — yet yon miglit gazt' twice 
Eiv Dcalli it sccm'd, aiwi not his <«Misiii. Sleep, 
That Ihi-oiigh those eicvi'-ed liils did iimleipeep, 



»;8 HERO AND LEANDER. 



LXII. 

But all that tender bloom about his eyes. 

Is death's own vi'lets, which his utmost rite 

It is to scatter when the red rose dies ; 

For blue is chilly, and akin to white : 

Also he leaves some tinges on his lips, 

Which he hath kiss'd with such cold frosty nips. 

LXIII. 

" Surely," quoth she, " he sleeps, the senseless 

thing, 
Oppress'd and faint with toiling in the stream !** 
Therefore she will not mar his rest, but sing 
So low, her tune shall mingle with his dream ; 
Meanwhile, her lily fingers' task 's to twine 
His uncrispt locks uncurling in the brine. 

LXIV. 

*' O lovely boy ! " — thus she attuned her voice, — 
" Welcome, thrice welcome, to a sea-maid's home. 
My love-mate thou shalt })e, and true heart's choice 
How have I long'd such a twin-self should come,— 
A lonely thing, till this sweet chance befell, 
My heart kept sighing like a hollow shell. 



" Here thou shalt live, beneath this secret dome, 
An ocean-bow'r ; defended by the shade 
Of quiet waters, a cool emerald gloom 
To lap thee all about. Nay, be not fray'd, 
Those are but shady fishes that sail by 
Like antic clouds across my liquid sky ! 



" Look how the sunbeam burns upon their scales, 
And shows rich glimpses of their Tyrian skins ; 
They flash small lightnings from their vigorous 

tails. 
And winking stars are kindled at their fins ; 



HKRO AND LEAXBET?. 69 

These shall divert thee in thy weariest moocl, 
Ami seek thy hand for gamesomeness and food. 



" Lo ! those green pretty leaves with tassel bells, 
IVIy flow'rets those, that never pine for drowth ; 
ISIyseif did plant them in the dappled shells, 
That drink the wave with such a rosy month, — • 
Pearls wouldst thou have beside ? crystals to shine ? 
I had such treasures once, — now they are thine. 

Lxvni. 

" NoAv, lay thine ear against this golden sand, 
And thou shalt hear the music of the sea, 
Those holloAv tunes it plays against the land, — 
Is't not a rich and wondrous melody ? 
I have lain hours, and fancied in its tone 
I heard the languages of ages gone ! 

LXIX. 

" I too can sing when it shall please thy choice, 
And breathe soft tunes through a melodious shell, 
Though heretofore I have but set my voice 
To some long sighs, grief harmonized, to tell 
How desolate I fared ; — but this sweet change 
Will add new notes of orladness to my range ! 



" Or bid me speak, and I will tell thee tales, 
Which I have framed out of the noise of waves ; 
Ere now, I have comnuined with senseless gales, 
And held vain collocpiies with barren caves ; 
But I could talk to thee whole days and days. 
Only to word my love a thousand ways. 

LXXI. 

" But if thy lips will bless me with their speech, 
Then ope, sweet oracles ! and I'll be mute ; 
[ was born ignorant for thee to teach, 



70 HERO AND LEANDER. 

Nav all love's lore to thy dear looks impute ; 
Then ope thine eyes, fair teachers, by whose light 
I saw to give away my heart aright ! " 

LXXII. 

But cold and deaf the sullen creature lies, 
Over her knees, and with concealing clay, 
Like hoarding Avarice locks up his eyes, 
And leaves her world impoverish'd of day ; 
Then at his cruel lips she bends to plead. 
But there the door is closed against her need. 



Surely he sleeps, — so her false wits infer ! 
Alas ! poor sluggard, ne'er to wake again ! 
Surely he sleeps, yet without any stir 
That might denote a vision in his brain ; 
Or if he does not sleep, he feigns too long, 
Twice she hath reach'd the ending of her song. 

LXXIV. 

Therefore 'tis time she tells him to uncover 
Those radiant jesters, and disperse her fears, 
Whereby her April face is shaded over, 
Like rainy clouds just ripe for showering tears ; 
Nay, if he will not wake, so poor she gets, 
Herself must rob those lock'd up cabinets. 

LXXV. 

With that she stoops above his brow, and bids 
Her busy hands forsake his tangled hair, 
And tenderly lift up those coffer-lids. 
That she may gaze upon the jewels there, 
Like babes that pluck an early bud apart, 
To know the dainty colour of its heart. 

LXXVI. 

Now, picture one, soft creeping to a bed. 
Who slowly parts the fringe-hung canopies, 



HERO AND LEANDER. 71 

And then starts back to find the sleeper dead ; 
So she looks in on his uncovered eyes, 
And seeing all within so drear and dark, 
Her own bright soul dies in her like a spark. 



Backward she falls, like a pale prophetess, 

Under the swoon of holy divination : 

And what had all surpass'd her simple guess, 

She now resolves in this dark revelation ; 

Death's very mystery, — oblivious death ; — 

Long sleep, — deep night, and an entranced breath. 

LXXVIII. 

Yet life, though wounded sore, not wholly slain, 
Merely obscured, and not extinguish'd, lies; 
Her breath that stood at ebb, soon flows again, 
Heaving her hollow breast with heavy sighs, 
And light comes in and kindles up the gloom, 
To light her spirit from its transient tomb. 

LXXIX. 

Then like the sun, awaken'd at new dawn, 
With pale bewilder'd face she peers about. 
And spies blurr'd images obscurely drawn. 
Uncertain shadows in a haze of doubt ; 
But her true grief grows shapely by degrees, 
A perish'd creature lying on her knees. 

LXXX. 

And now she knows how that old Murther preys, 
Whose quarry on her lap lies newly slain : 
How he roams all abroad and grimly slays, 
Like a lean tiger in Love's own domain ; 
Parting fond mates, — and oft in flowery lawns 
Bereaves mild mothers of their milky fawns. 

LXXX I. 

O too dear knowledge ! O pernicious earning! 
Foul curse eu<jraven upon beauty's paire ' 



HERO AND LEANDER. 



Ev'n now the sorrow of that deadly learning 
Plouohs up her brow, like an untimely age, 
Andon her cheek stamps verdict of death's truth 
By canker blights upon the bud of youth ! 



For as unwholesome winds decay the leaf. 
So her cheeks' rose is perish'd by her sighs, 
And withers in the sickly breath of grief ; 
Whilst unacquainted i*heum bedims her eyes, 
Tears, virgin tears, the first that ever leapt 
From those young lids, now plentifully wept. 



Whence being shed, the liquid crystalline 
Drops straightway down, refusing to partake 
In gross admixture with the baser brine, 
But shrinks and hardens into pearls opaque. 
Hereafter to be worn on arms and ears ; 
So one maid's trophy is another's tears ! 

LXXXIV. 

" O foul Arch-Shadow, thou old cloud of Night, 
(Thus in her frenzy she began to wail,) 
Thou blank oblivion — blotter out of light. 
Life's ruthless murderer, and dear love's bale ! 
Why hast thou left thy havoc incomplete, 
Leaving me here, and slaying the more sweet ? 

LXXXV. 

" Lo ! what a lovely ruin thou hast made ! 
Alas ! alas ! thou hast no eyes to see, 
And blindly slew'st him in misguided shade. 
Would I had lent my doting sense to thee ! 
But now I turn to thee, a willing mark. 
Thine arrows miss me in the aimless dark 1 

LXXXVI. 

" O doubly cruel ! — twice misdoing spite, 
But I will guide thee with my helping eyes, 



ERRO A.VD LEAXDER 73 

Or walk the wide world thronojh, devoid of sight, 

Yet thou shalt know uie by my many sighs. 

Nay, then thou should'st have spared mv rose, false 

Death, 
And known Love's flow'r by smelling his sweet 

breath ; 

LXXXVII. 

" Or, when thy furious rage was round him dealing, 
Love should have grown from touching of his 

skin ; 
But like cold marble thou art all unfeeling. 
And hast no ruddy springs of warmth within, 
And being but a shape of freezing bone. 
Thy touching only turn'd my love to stone ! 

LXXXVIII. 

"And here, alas ! he lies across my knees, 
With cheeks still colder than the stilly wave. 
The light beneath his eyelids seems to freeze ; 
Here then, since love is dead and lacks a grave, 
O come and dig it in my sad heart's core — 
That wound will bring a balsam for its sore ! 

LXXXIX. 

" For art thou not a sleep where sense of ill 
Lies stingless, like a sense benumb'd with cold, 
Healing all hurts only with sleep's good-will ? 
So shall I slumber, and perchance behold 
My living love in dreams, — O happy night, 
That lets me company his banish'd spright ! 

XC. 

" O poppy Death ! — sweet poisoner of sleep ; 
Where shall I seek for thee, oblivious drug, 
That I may steep thee in my drink, and creep 
Out of life's coil ? Look, Idol ! how I hug 
Thy dainty image in this strict embrace, 
And kiss this clay-cold model of thy tace ! 



74 HERO AND LEANDER. 



" Put out, put out these sun-consuming lamps, 
I do but read my sorrows by their shine ; 
O come and quench them with thy oozy damps, 
And let my darkness intermix with thine ; 
Since love is blinded, wherefore should I see ? 
Now love is death, — death will be love to me I 

XCII. 
"Away, away, this vain complaining breath, 
It does but stir the troubles that I weep ; 
Let it be hush'd and quieted, sweet Death ; 
The wind must settle ere the wave can sleep, — 
Since love is silent I would fain be mute ; 
O Death, be gracious to my dying suit ! " 

XCIII. 

Thus far she pleads, but pleading nought avails 

her, 
For Death, her sullen burthen, deigns no heed ; 
Then with dumb craving arms, since darkness fails 

her, 
She prays to heaven's fair light, as if her need 
Inspired her there were Gods to pity pain, 
Or end it, — but she lifts her arms in vain ! 



Poor gilded Grief ! the subtle light by this 
With mazy gold creeps through her watery mine, 
And, diving downward through the green abyss. 
Lights up her palace with an amber shine ; 
There, falling on her arms, — the crystal skin 
Keveals the ruby tide that fares within. 

xcv. 
Look how the fulsome beam would hang a glory 
On her dark hair, but the dark hairs repel it ; 
Look how tJie perjured glow suborns a story 



HERO AND LEANDKR. 75 

On her pale lip?, but lips refuse to tell it ; 
Grief will not swerve from grief, however told 
On coral hps, or character'd in gold ; 

xcvi. 
Or else, thou maid ! safe anthor'd on Love's neck, 
Listing the hapless doom of young Leander, 
Tliou would'st not shed a tear for that old wreck, 
Sifting secure where no wild surges wander ; 
\Vhereas the woe moves on with tragic pace, 
And shows its sad reflection in thy face. 



Thus having travell'd on, and track'd the tale, 
Like the due course of an old bas-relief. 
Where Tragedy pursues her progress pale, 
Brood here awhile upon that sea-maid's grief. 
And take a deeper imprint from the frieze 
Of that young Fate, with Death upon her knees. 

xcviir. 
Then whilst the melancholy muse withal 
Kesumes her music in a sadder tone, 
JMeanwhile the sunbeam strikes upon the wall, 
C'Onceive that lovely siren to live on, 
Ev'n as Hope whisper'd, the Promethean light 
Would kindle up the dead Leander's spriglit. 

xcix. 
" 'Tis light," she says, " that feeds the glittering stars, 
And those were stars set in his heavenly brow • 
But this salt cloud, this cold sea-vapour, mars 
Their radiant breathing, and obscures them now ; 
Therefore I'll lay him in the clear blue air. 
And see how these dull orbs will kindle there." 

c. 

Swiftly as dolphins glide, or swifter yet. 
With dead Leander in her fond arms' fold, 



76 HERO AND LEANDER. 

She cleaves the meshes of that radiant net, 
The sun hath twined above of liquid gold, 
Nor slacks -till on the margin of the land 
She lays his body on the glowing sand. 

CI. 

There, like a pearly waif, just past the reach 
Of foamy billows he lies cast. Just then, 
Some listless fishers, straying down the beach. 
Spy out this wonder. Thence the curious men, 
Low crouching, creep into a thicket brake, 
And watch her doings till their rude hearta 
ache. 



First she begins to chafe hira till she faints. 
Then falls upon his mouth with kisses many. 
And sometimes pauses in her own complaints 
To list his breathing, but there is not any, — 
Then looks into his eyes where no light dwells; 
Light makes no pictures in such muddy wells. 



The hot sun parches his discover'd eyes. 
The hot sun beats on his discolour'd limbs, 
The sand is oozy whereupon he lies, 
Soiling his fairness; — then away she swims. 
Meaning to gather him a daintier bed, 
Plucking the cool fresh weeds, brown, green, and 
red. 

CIV. 

But, simple- witted thief, while she dives under, 
Another robs her of her amorous theft ; 
The ambush'd fishermen creep forth to plunder, 
And steal the unwatch'd treasure she has left ; 
Only his void impression dints the sands ; 
Leander is purloin'd by stealthy hands ! 



llLiiO AND LEANDEB. 



CV. 

liO ! how she shudders off the beaded wave ! 
Like Grief all over tears, and senseless tails, 
His vo 1 imprint seems hollow'd for her grave ; 
Then, sing, on her knees, looks round and calls 
On He ! Hero ! having learn'd this name 
Of his ist breath, she calls him by the same. 

cvi. 
Then with her frantic hands she rends her hairs, 
And casts them forth, sad keepsakes to the wind, 
As if in plucking those she pluck'd her cares; 
But grief lies deeper, antl remains behind 
Like a barb'd arrow, rankling in her brain. 
Turning her very thoughts to throbs of pain. 

CVII. 

Anon her tangled locks are left alone, 
And doAvn upon the sand she meekly sits, 
Hard by the foam, as humble as a stone, 
Like an enrnanted maid beside her wits. 
That ponders with a look serene and tragic, 
Stunn'd by the mighty mystery of magic. 

CVIII. 
Or think of Ariadne's utter trance. 
Crazed by the flight of that disloy^il traitor, 
Who left her gazing on the green expanse 
That swallow'd up his track, — yet this would mate 

her, 
Ev'n in the cloudy summit of her woe. 
When o'er the far sea-brim she saw him go. 

Cix. 
For even so she bows, and bends her gaze 
O'er the eternal waste, as if to sum 
Its waves by weary thousands all her days, 
Dismally doom'd ! meanwhile the billows come, 



7<S HERO AXD LEAXDEK. 

,y^ nd coldly dabble with her quiet feet, 

Like any bleaching stones they wont to greet 



And thence into her lap have boldly sprun , 

Washing her weedy tresses to and fro, 

That round her crouching knees have dark y hung 

But she sits careless of waves' ebb and flo^ 

Like a lone beacon on a desert coast, 

Showing where all her hope was wreck'd and lost. 

CXI. 

Yet whether in the sea or yaulted sky, 
She knoweth not her love's abrupt resort, 
So like a shape of dreams he left her eye. 
Winking with doubt. Meanwhile, the churls' 

report 
Has throng'd the beach with many a curious face, 
That peeps upon her from its hiding-place. 

CXII. 

And here a head, and there a brow half seen, 

Dodges behind a rock. Here on his hands, 

A mariner his crumpled cheeks doth lean 

Over a rugged crest. Another stands, 

Holding his harmful arrow at the head. 

Still check'd by human caution and strange dreaJ 

CXIII. 

One stops his ears, — another close beholder 

Whispers unto the next his grave surmise ; 

This crouches down, — and just above his shoulder 

A woman's pity saddens in her eyes. 

And prompts her to befriend that lonely grief. 

With all sweet helps of sisterly relief 

CXIV. 

And down the sunny beach she paces slowly, 
With many doubtful pauses by the way ; 



irKHO A\D LEAXOEU. tV 

(iriofhath an influence so ImsliM and holy, — 
Makino- her twice attom[)t, ere slie can lay 
Her hand upon that sea-maid's shoulder while, 
Which makes her startle up in wild alFright. 

cxv. 
And, like a seal, she leaps into the wave 
That drowns the shnll remainder of her screamy 
Anon the sea fills up the watery cave, 
And seals her exit with a foamy seam, — 
Leaving those baffled gazers on the beach, 
Turning in uncouth wonder each to each. 

CXVI. 

Some watch, some call, some see her head emerge, 
Wherever a brown weed falls through the foam; 
Some point to white eruptions of the surge : 
But she is vanish'd to her shady home, 
Under the deep, inscrutable, — and there 
Weeps in a midnight made of her own hair. 

CXVII. 

Now here, the sighing winds, before unheard, 
Forth from their cloudy caves begin to blow. 
Till all the surface of the deep is stirr'd, 
Like to the panting grief it hides below ; 
And heaven is cover'd with a stormy rack, 
Soiling the waters with its inky black. 

CXVIII. 

The screaming fowl resigns her finny prey. 
And labours shoreward with a bending wing, 
Rowing against the wind her toilsome way ; 
Meanwhile, the curling billows chafe, and fling 
Their dewy frost still further on the stones, 
That answer to the wind with hollow groans. 

C'XIX. 

And here and there a fisher's far-off bark 
Flies with the sim's last glin4»se upon its sail, 



80 HERO AISD L ':AXDi:ii. 

Like a brinlit flame amid the waters dark, 
Watch'd with the hope and fear of maidens pale ; 
And anxious motliers that upturn their brows, 
Freighting the gusty wind with frequent vows, 

cxx. 

For that the horrid deep has no sure track 
To guide love safe into his homely haven. 
And lo ! the storm grows blacker in its wrath, 
O'er the dark billow brooding like a raven, 
That bodes of death and widow's sorrowing. 
Under the dusty covert of his wing. 

CXXI. 

And so day ended. But no vesper spark 
Hang forth its heavenly sign ; but sheets of flamo 
Piay'd round the savage features of the dark. 
Making night horrible. That night, there came 
A weeping maiden to high Sestos' steep. 
And tore her hair and gazed upon the deep 



And waved aloft her bright and ruddy torch, 
Whose flame the boastful wind so rudely fann'd, 
That oft it would recoil, and basely scorch 
The tender covert of her sheltering hand ; 
Which yet, for love's dear sake, disdain'd retire, 
And, like a glorying martyr, braved the fire. 

CXXIII. 

For that was love's own sign and beacon guide 
Across rhe Hellespont's wide weary space, 
Wherein he nightly struggled with the tide ; 
Look what a red it forges on her face. 
As if she blush'd at holding such a light, 
Ev'n in the unseen presence of the night I 

CXXIV. 

Whereas her tragic cheek is truly pale, 
And colder than the rude and ruffian air 



HERO AND LKAXDER. 81 

That howls into her ear a liorrid tale 

Of storm, and wreck, and uttermost despair, 

Sayinsx, " Leander floats amid the surge, 

And those are dismal waves that sing his dirge." 

cxxv. 

And hark ! — a grieving voice, trembling and 

faint, 
Blends with the hollow sobbings of the sea; 
Like the sad music of a siren's plaint, 
But shriller than Leander's voice should be, 
Unless the wintry death had changed its tone, — 
Wherefore she thinks she hears his spirit moan. 

CXXVI. 

For now, upon each brief and breathless pause, 
Made by the raging winds, it plainly calls 
On Hero ! Hero I — whereupon she draws 
Close to the dizzy bi'ink, that ne'er appalls 
Her brave and constant spirit to recoil, 
However the -^ild billows toss and toil. 

CXXVII. 

'' Oh ! dost thou live under the deep deep^sea ? 
I thought such love as thine could never die ; 
li' thou hast gain'd an immortality 
From the kind pitying sea-god, so will I ; 
And this false cruel tide that used to sever 
Our hearts, shall be our common home for , 
ever 1 

CXXVIII. 

" There we will sit aiid sport upon one billow, 
And sing our ocean ditties all the day, 
And lie together on the same gi'cen pillow, 
That curls above us with its dewy spray ; 
And e\er in one presence live and dwell, 
Like two twin pearls within the sellsame shell." 

V«JL. I. 6 



82 HERO AND LEANDER. 



CXXIX. 

One moment then, upon the dizzy vergs 

She stands ; — with face upturned against the sky ; 

A moment more, upon the foamy surge 

She gazes, with a calm despairing eye ; 

Feehng that awful pause of blood and breath 

Which life endures when it confronts with death ;— 



Then from the giddy steep she madly springs, 
Grasping her maiden robes, that vainly kept 
Panting abroad, like unavailing wings, 
To save her from her death. — The sea-maid wept, 
And in a crystal cave her corse enshrined ; 
No meaner sepulchre should Hero find 1 



LYCUS, THE CENTAUR 
1827. 



•fo 

J. H. REYNOLDS, ESQ. 

My deae Reynolds, 

You will remember " Lycus." — ^It was written in the 
pleasant spring-time of our friendship, and I am glad to maintain 
that association, by connecting your name with the Poem. It 
will gratify me to find that you regard it with the old partiality 
for the writings of each other, which prevailed in those days. 
For my own sake, I must regret that your pen goes now into far 
other records than those which used to deli^-^ht me. 
Your true Friend and Brother, 

T. Hood. 



LYCUS, THE CENTAUR. 

FROM AN UNROLLED MANUSCRIPT OF APOLLONIU8 
CUKIUS. 

THE ARGUMENT. 
I13CUS, detained by Circe in her mcOgical dominion, is beloved by 
a Water Nymph, who, desiring to render him immortal, has 
rei'ourse to the Sorceress. Circe gives her an incantation to pro- 
nounce, which should turn Lycus into a horse; but the horrible 
eEfect of the charm causing her to break off in the midst, he 
becomes a Centaur. 

Who hath ever been lured and bound by a spell 
To wander, foredoom'd, in that circle of hell 
Where Witchery works with her will like a god, 
Works more than the wonders of time at a nod, — 
At a word, — at a touch, — at a flash of the eye, 
But each form is a cheat, and each sound is a lie. 
Things born of a wish — to endure for a thought, 
Or last for long ages — to vanish to nought. 
Or put on new semblance ? O Jove, I had given 
The throne of a kingdom to know if that heaven, 
And the earth and its streams were of Circe, or 

whether 
They kept the world's birth-day and brighten'd 

together ! 
For I loved them in terror, and constantly dreaded 
That the earth where I trod, and the cave where I 

bedded. 
The face I might dote on, should live out the lease 
Of the charm that created, and suddenly cease : 
Aud 1 gave me to slumber, as if from one dream 
To another — each horrid — and drank of the stream 



80 LYCUS, THE CENTAUR. 

Like a first taste of blood, lest as water I quaff 'd 
Swift poison, and never should breathe from the 

draught, — 
Such drink as her own monarch husband drain'd 

When he pledged her, and Fate closed his eyes in 

the cup. 
And I pluck'd of the fruit with held breath, and a 

fear 
That the branch would start back and scream out 

in my ear ; 
For once, at my suppering, I pluck'd in the dusk 
An apple, juice-gushing and fragrant of musk ; 
But by daylight my fingers were crimson'd with 

gore, 
And the half-eaten fragment was flesh at the core ; 
And once — only once — for the love of its blush, 
I broke a bloom bough, but there came such a gush 
On my hand, that it fainted away in weak fright, 
While the leaf-hidden woodpecker shriek'd at the 

sight ; 
And oh ! such an agony thrill'd in that note, 
That my soul, startling up, beat its wings in my 

throat. 
As it long'd to be free of a body whose hand 
Was doom'd to work torments a Fury had plann'd! 

There I stood without stir, yet how willing to 
flee. 
As if rooted and horror-turn'd into a tree,— 
Oh ! for innocent death, — and to suddenly win it, 
I drank of the stream, but no poison was in it ; 
I plunged in its waters, but ere I could sink, 
Some invisible fate puU'd me back to the brink ; 
I sprang from the rock, from its pinnacle height. 
But fell on the grass with a grasshopper's flight; 
I ran at my fears — they were fears and no more, 
For the bear would not mangle my limbs, nor the 
boar, 



LYCU8, THE CENTAUR. 87 

But moanVl, — all their brutalized flesh could not 

smother 
The horrible truth, — we were kin to each other I 

They were mournfully gentle, and group'd for 

relief, 
All foes in their skin, but all friends in their grief: 
The leopard was there, — baby-mild in its feature ; 
And the tiger, black barr'd, with the gaze (;f a 

creature 
That knew gentle pity ; the bristle-back'd boar, 
His innocent tusks stain'd with mulberry gore ; 
And the laughing hyena — but laughing no more ; 
And the snake, not with magical orbs to devise 
Strange death, but with woman's attraction of eyes ; 
The tall ugly ape, that still bore a dim shine 
Through his hairy eclipse of a manhood divine; 
And the elephant stately, with more than its reason, 
How thoughtful in sadness ! but this is no season 
To reckon them up from the lag-bellied toad 
To the mammoth, whose sobs shook his ponderous 

load. 
There were woes of all shapes, wretched forms, 

when I came, 
That hung down their heads with a human-like 

shame; 
The ele]>hant hid in the boughs, and the bear 
Shed over his eyes the dark veil of his hair; 
And the womanly soul turning sick with disgust, 
Tried to vomit herself from her serpentine crust ; 
While all groan'd their groans into one at their lot, 
As I brought them the image of what they were 

not. 

Then rose a wild sound of the human voicp 
choaking 
Through vile brutal organs — low tremulous croak- 

Cries swallow'd abruptly — deep animal tones 



B8 LYCU3, THE CENTAUR. 

Attuned to strange passion, and full-utter'd groans 
All shuddering weaker, till hush'd in a pause 
Of tongues in mute motion and wide-yawning jaws 
And I'guess'd that those horrors were meant U 

toll o'er 
The tale of their woes ; but the silence told more 
That writhed on their tongues ; and I knelt on the 

sod, 
A»id pray'd with my voice to the cloud-stirring 

God, 
For the sad congregation of supplicants there, 
That upturn'd to his heaven brute faces of prayer ; 
And I ceased, and they utter'd a moaning so deep, 
That I wept for my heart-ease, — but they could 

not weep, 
And gazed with red eyeballs, all wistfully dry. 
At the comfort of tears in a stag's human eye. 
Then I motion'd them round, and, to soothe their 

distress, 
I caress'd, and they bent them to meet my caress. 
Their necks to my arm, and their heads to my palm, 
And with poor grateful eyes suffer'd meekly and 

calm 
Those tokens of kindness, withheld by hard fate 
From returns that might chill the warm pity to 

hate ; 
So they passively bow'd — save the serpent, that 

leapt 
To my breast like a sister, and pressingly crept 
In embrace of my neck, and with close kisses 

blister'd 
My lips in rash love, — then drew backward, and 

glister 'd 
Her eyes in my face, and loud hissing affright, 
Dropt down, and swift started away from my sight! 

This sorrow was theirs, but thrice wretched my 
lot, 
Turn'd brute in my soul, though my body was not 



LYCUS, Tin: CKXTAUK. 89 

When I fled from the sorrow of womanly faces, 
That shronded their woe in the shade of lone 

])lai-es, 
And dash'd off bright tears, till their fingers were 

wet, 
And then wiped their lids with long tresses of jet: 
But 1 fled — though they stretch'd out their hands, 

all entangled 
With hair, and blood-stain'd of the breasts they 

had mangled, — 
Though they call'd — and perchance but to ask, had 

I seen 
Their loves, or to tell the vile wrongs that had 

been : 
But I stay'd not to hear, lest the story should hold 
Some hell-tbrm of words, some enchantment once 

told, 
Might translate me in flesh to a brute ; and I dreaded 
T'o gaze on their charms, lest my faith should be 

wedded 
With some pity,— and love in that pity pei'chance — 
'Vo a thing not all lovely ; for once at a glance 
Methought, where one sat, I descried a bright 

wonder 
That flow'd like a long silver rivulet under 
The long fenny grass, with so lovely a breast, 
Could it be a snake-tail made the charm of the 

rest ? 

So I roam'd in that circle of horrors, and Fear 
Walk'd with me, by hills, and in valleys, and near 
Ciuster'd trees for their gloom — not to shelter from 

heat — 
But lest a brute-shadow should grow at my feet; 
And besides that full oft in the sunshiny place, 
Dirk shadows would gather like clouds on its face, 
In the horril)le likeness of demons, (that none 
Could see, like invisible flames in the -^un ;) 
But urevv to one monster that s^-i/ed on the lijjrht. 



90 LYCUS, THE CENTAUR. 

Like the dragon ttat strangles the moon in the 

night ; 
Fierce sphinxes, long serpents, and asps of the 

South ; 
Wild birds of huge beak, and all horrors that 

drouth 
Engenders of slime in the land of the pest, 
Vile shapes without shape, and foul bats of the 

West, . 
Bringing Night on their wings; and the bodies 

wherein 
Great Brahma imprisons the spirits of sin, 
Many-handed, that blent in one phantom of fight 
Like a Titan, and threatfuUy warr'd with the light ; 
I have heard the wild shriek that gave signal to 

close. 
When they rush'd on that shadowy Python of foes, 
That met with sharp beaks and wide gaping of 

jaws. 
With flappings of wings, and fierce grasping of 

claws, 
And whirls of long tails : — I have seen the quick 

flutter 
Of fragments dissever'd, — and necks stretch'd to 

utter 
Long screamings of pain, — the swift motion of 

blows. 
And wrestling of arms — to the flight at the close. 
When the dust of the earth startled upward in 

rings, 
An i flew on the whirlwind that foUow'd their wings. 

Thus they fled — not forgotten— but often to 
grow 
Like foars in my eyes, when I walk'd to and fro 
In the shadows, and felt from some beings unseen 
The warm touch of kisses, but clean or unclean 
I knew not, nor whether the love I had won 
Was of heaven or hell — till one day in the sun, 



LYCUS, THE CKXTAUR. 91 

In its very noon-blazo, I could fancy a thing 
Of beauty, but faint as the cloud-niirrors flin» 
On the gaze of the shepherd that watches tlie sky, 
Hall-seen and half-dream'd in the soul of his eye. 
And when in my musings I gazed on the stream, 
In motionless trances of thought, there would seem 
A face like that face, looking upward throu<'"h 

mine ; 
With its eyes full of love, and the dim-drowned 

shine 
Of limbs and fair garments, like clouds in that blue 
Serene : — there I stood for long hours but to view 
Tho.se fond earnest eyes that were ever uplifted 
Towards me, and wink'd as the water-weed drifted 
Between ; but the fish knew that presence, and 

plied 
Their long curvy tails, and swift darted aside. 

There I gazed for lost time, and forgot all the 

things 
That once had been wonders — the fishes with 

wings, 
And the glimmer of magnified eyes that look'd up 
From the glooms of the bottom like pearls in a cup, 
And the huge endless serpent of silvery gleam, 
Slow winding along like a tide in the stream. 
Some maid of the waters, some Naiad, methought 
Held me dear in the pearl of her eye — and I 

brought 
My wish to that fancy ; and often I dash'd 
My limbs in the water, and suddenly splash'd 
The coel drops around me, yet clung to the brink, 
Chill'd by watery fears, how that Beauty might 

sink 
With my life in her arms to her garden, and bind 

me 
With its long tangled grasses, or cruelly wind me 
In some eddy to hum out my life in her ear, 
Like a spider-caught bee, — and in aid of that fear 



02 LYCUS, THE CEXTAUR. 

Came the tardy remembrance — Oh falsest of 

men ! 
Why was not that beauty remember'd till then ? 
My love, my safe love, whose glad life would have 

run 
Into mine — like a drop — that our fate might be 

one, : 
That now, even now, — may-be, — clasp'd in a 

dream, 
That form which I gave to some jilt of the stream, 
And gazed with fond eyes ihat her tears tried to 

smother 
On a mock of those eyes that I gave to another ! 

Then I rose from the stream, but the eyes of my 

mind, 
Still full of the tempter, kept gazing behind 
On her crystaUine face, while I painfully leapt 
To the bank, and shook off the curst waters, and 

wept 
With my brow in the reeds ; and the reeds to my 

ear 
Bow'd, bent by no wind, and in whispers of fear, 
Growing small with large secrets, foretold me of 

one 
That loved me, — but oh to fly from her, and shun 
Her love like a pest — though her love was as true 
To mine as her stream to the heavenly blue ; 
For why should I love her with love that would 

bring 
All misfortune, like Hate, on so joyous a thing ? 
Because of her rival, — even Her whose witch-face 
I had slighted, and therefore was doom'd in that 

place 
To roam, and had roam'd, where all horrors grew 

rank, 
Nine days ere I wept with my brow on that bank ; 
Her name be not named, but her spite would not 

fail 



LYCUS, THE CENTAUR. OS 

To our love like a blight ; and tliey told me the 

tale 
Of Scylla, and Picus, imprison'd to speak 
His shiill-screaming woe through a woodpecker's 

beak. 

Then they ceased — I had heard as the voice of 

my star 
That told me the truth of my fortunes^thus far 
I had read of my sorrow, and lay in the hush 
Of deep meditation, — when lo ! a light crush 
Of the reeds, and I turn'd and look'd round in the 

night _ 
Of new sunshine, and saw, as I sipp'd of the light 
Narrow-winking, the realized nymph of the stJ'eam, 
Rising up from the wave with the bend and the 

gleam 
Of a fountain, and o'er her white arms she kept 

throwing 
Bright torrents of hair, that went flowing and 

flowing 
In falls to her feet, and the blue waters roll'd 
Down her limbs like a garment, in many a fold, 
Sun-spangled, gold-broider'd, and fled far behind, 
Like an infinite train. ( So she came and reclined 
In the reeds, and I hunger'd to see her unseal 
The buds of her eyes that would ope and reveal • 
The blue that was in them ; and they oped and sho 

raised 
Two orbs of pure crystal, and timidly gazed 
With her eyes on my eyes ; but their colour and 

shine 
Was of that which they look'd on, and mostly of 

mine — 
For she loved me, — except when she blush'd, and 

they sank. 
Shame-humbled, to number the stones ou the 

bank, 
Or hur pla}-id!e fingers,]wliile lisping she told me 



94 LYCUS, THE CENTAUR. 

How she put on her veil, and in love to beholt. 

me 
Would wing through the sun till she fainted away- 
Like a mist, and then flew to her waters and lay 
In love-patience long hours, and sore dazzled her 

eyes 
In watching for mine 'gainst the midsummer skies. 
But now they were heal'd, — O my heart, it still 

dances 
When I think of the charm of her changeable 

glances, 
And my image how small when it sank in the deep 
Of her eyes where her soul was, — Alas ! now they 

weep, 
And none knoweth where. In what stream do 

her eyes 
Shed invisible tears ? Who beholds where her 

sighs 
Flow in eddies, or sees the ascent of the leaf 
She has pluck'd with her tresses ? ; Who listens her 

grief 
Like a far fall of waters, or hears where her feet 
Grow emphatic among the loose pebbles, and beat 
Them together ?)) Ah ! surely her flowers float 

adown 
To the sea unaccepted, and little ones drown 
For need of her mercy, — even he whose twin- 
brother 
Will miss him forever ; and the sorrowful mother 
Imploreth in vain for his body to kiss 
And cling to, all dripping and cold as it is, 
Because that soft pity is lost in hard pain ! 
We loved, — how we loved ! — ^for I thought not 

again 
Of the woes that were whisper'd like fears in that 

place 
If I gave me to beauty. Her face was the face 
Far away, and her eyes were the eyes that were 

drown'd 



LYCUS, THE CENTAUR. 95 

For my absence, — her arms were the. arms that 

sought round, 
And clasp'd me to nought ; for I gazed and be- 
came 
Only true to my falsehood, and had but one name 
For two loves, and cail'd ever on iEgle, swiet 

maid 
Of the sky-loving waters, — and was not afraid 
Of the sight of her skin ; — for it never could be, 
Her beauty and love were misfortunes to me ! 

Thus our bliss had endured for a time-shorten'd 

space, 
Like a day made of three, and the smile of her 

face 
Had been with me for joy, — when she told me 

indeed 
Her love was self-task'd with a work that would 

need 
Some short hours, for in truth 'twas the veriest 

pity 
Our love should not last, and ; then sang me a 

ditty. 
Of one with warm lips that should love her, and 

love her 
When suns were burnt dim and long ages past 

over. ) 
So she fled with her voice, and I patiently nested . 
My limbs in the reeds, in still quiet, and rested 
Till my thoughts grew extinct, and I sank in a 

sleep 
Of dreams, — but their meaning was hidden too 

deep 
To be read what their woe was ; — but still it was 

woe 
That was writ on all faces that swam to and fro 
In that river of night; — and the gaze of their eyes 
Was sad, — and the bend of their bi'ows, — and their 

cries 



9G LYCUS, THE CENTAUR. 

Wave seen, but I heard not. The warm touch of 

tears 
Travell'd down my cold cheeks, and I shook till 

my fears 
Awaked me, and lo ! I was couch'd in a bower, 
The growth of long summers rear'd up in an hour 
(Then I said, in the fear of my dream, I will fly 
From this magic, but could not, because that my 

eye 
Grew love-idle among the rich blooms; and the 

earth 
Held me down with its coolness of touch, and the 

mirth 
Of some bird was above me,-)-who, even in fear, 
Would startle the thrush? and methought there 

drew near 
A form as of ^gle, — ^but it was not tlie face 
Hope made, and I knew the witch-Queen of that 

place. 
Even Circe the Cruel, that came like a Death 
Which I fear'd, and yet fled not, for want of my 

breath. 
There was thought in her face, and her eyes were 

not raised 
From the grass at her foot, but I saw, as I gazed, 
Her spite — and her countenance changed with her 

mind 
As she plann'd how to thrall me with beauty, and 

bind 
My soul to her charms, — and her long tregses playM 
From shade into shine and from shine into shade, 
Like a day in mid-autumn, — first fair, O how fair 
With long snaky locks of the adder-black hair 
That clung round her neck, — those dark locks that 

I prize, 
For the sake of a maid that once loved me with 

eyes 
Of that fathomless hue, — but they changed as they 

rolled 



LYCUS, TIIK CKXTAUK. 97 

And brighten'd, and siifldenly blazed into jjold 
Tiiat she comb'd into fUunes, and the locks that fell 

down 
Tui-n'd dark as they fell, but I slighted their 

brown, 
Nor loved, till I saw the light ringlets shed wild, 
That innocence wears when she is but a child ; 
And her eyes, — Oh I ne'er had been witch'd with 

their shine. 
Had ihey been any other, my ^Egle, than thine ! 

Then I gave me to magic, and gazed till I 

madden'd 
In the full of their light, — but I sndden'd and 

sadden'd 
The deeper I look'd, — till I sank on the snow 
Of her bosom, a thing made of terror and woe. 
And answer'd its throb with the shudder of fears, 
And hid my cold eyes from her eyes with my 

tears. 
And sti-ain'd her white arms with the still languid 

weight 
Of a fainting distress. There she sat like the Fate 
That is nurse unto Death, and bent over in shame 
To hide me from her — the true ^glc — that came 
With the words on her lips the false witch had 

foregiven 
To make me immortal — for now I was even • 

At the portals of Death, who but waited the hush 
Of world-.sounds in my ear to cry welcome, and 

rush 
With my soul to the banks of his black-flowing 

river. 
Oh would it had flown from my body forever. 
Ere I listen'd those words, when I felt with a 

start. 
The life-blood rush back in one throb to my heart, 
And saw the j)ale lips wlu-re the rest of that sjiell 
Had {.crisli'd in hoi'ior — and heard the farewell 
VOL I. 7 



98 LYCUS, THE CENTAUR. 

Of that voice that was drown'd in the dash of the 

stream ! 
How fain had I follow'd, and plunged with that 

scream 
Into death, but my being indignantly lagg'd 
Through the brutalized flesh that I painfully 

dragg'd 
Behind me: — " O Circe ! O mother of spite ! 
Speak tlie last of that curse! and imprison me 

quite 
In the husk of a brute, — that no pity may name 
The man that 1 was, — that no kindred may claim 
The monster I am ! Let me utterly be 
Brute-buried, and Nature's dishonour with me 
Uninscribed ! " — But she listen'd my prayer, that 

was praise 
To her malice, with smiles, and advised me to gaze 
On the river for love, — and perchance she would 

make 
In pity a maid without eyes for my sake, 
And she left me like Scorn. Then I ask'd of the 

wave. 
What monster I was, and it trembled and gave 
The true shape of my grief, and I turn'd with my 

face 
From all waters forever, and fled through that 

place. 
Till with horror more strong than all magic I pass'd 
Its bounds, and the world was before me at last. 

There I wander'd in sorrow, and shunn'd the 
abodes 
Of men, that stood up in the likeness of Gods, 
But I saw from afar the warm shine of the sun 
On their cities, where man was a million, not one ; 
And I saw the white smoke of their altars ascend- 

That show'd where the iiearts of the many were 
bit^nding, 



lAXUS, THE CENTAUR. *J& 

Vnd the mnd in my fiice brought shrill voices tliat 

came 
''rom the trumpets that gathered whole bands in 

one fame 
Vs a chorus of man, — and they streani'd frnin the 

gates 
jike a dusky libation pour'd out to the Fates. 
3ut at times there were gentler processions of 

peace 
That I watch'd with my soul in my eyes til) their 

cease, 
There were women ! there men ! but to me a third 

sex 
I saw them all dots — yet I loved them as specks : 
And oft to assuage a sad yearning of eyes 
[ stole near the city, but stole covert-wise 
Like a wild beast of love, and perchance to be 

smitten 
By some hand that I rather had wept on than 

bitten ! 
Oh, I once had a haunt near a cot where a mother 
Daily sat in the shade with her child, and would 

smother 
Its eyelids in kisses, and then in its sleep 
Sang dreams in its ear of its manhood, while deep 
In a thicket of willows I gazed o'er the brooks 
That murmur'd between us and kiss'd them with 

looks ; 
But the willows unbosom'd their secret, and never 
I i-eturn'd to a spot I had startled forever. 
Though I oft long'd to know, but could ask it of 

none. 
Was the mother still fair, and how big was her son ? 

For the haunters of fields they all shunn'd me by 
tlight, 
The men in ihoir hon-or, the women in flight; 
Non(^ ever i» niaiuM sun e a i hild onre that spoiled 
Among the aild hhieljells, and playfnlly courted 



]00 LYCUS, THE CEXTAUR. 

The breeze ; and beside him a speckled snake lay 
Tiirht strangled, because it had hiss'd him away 
From the flower at his finger ; he rose and dre^ 

near 
Like a Son of Immortals, one born to no fear, 
But with strength of black locks and with eyes 

azure bright 
To grow to large manhood of merciful might. 
He came, with his face of bold wonder, to feel, 
The hair of my side, and to lift up my heel, 
And question'd my face with wide eyes ; but when 

under 
My lids he saw tears, — for I wept at his wonder, 
He stroked me, and utter'd such kindliness then. 
That the once love of women, the friendship of 

men 
In past sorrow, no kindness e'er came like a kiss 
On my heart in its desolate day such as this ! 
And I yearn'd at his cheeks in my love, and down 

bent, 
And lifted him up in my arms with intent 
To kiss him, — but he cruel-kindly, alas ! 
Held out to my lips a pluck'd handful of grass ! 
Then I dropt him in horror, but I felt as I fled 
The stone he indignantly hurl'd at my head, 
That dissever'd my ear, — but I felt not, whose fate 
Was to meet more distress in his love than his hate I 

Thus I wander'd, companlon'd of grief and for- 
lorn. 
Till I wisli'd for that land where my being was 

born. 
But what was that land with its love, where my 

home 
Was self-shut against me ; for why should I come 
Like an after-distress to my gray-bearded father, 
With a blight to the last of his sight ? — let him 

rather 
Lament for me dead, and shed tears in the urn 



THE TWO PKACOCKS OF BEDFOXT. ICI 

Where I was not, and still in fond memory turn 
To his son even such as he left him. Oh, how 
Could I walk with the youth once my fellows, but 

now 
Like Gods to my humbled estate ? — or how bear 
The steeds once the pride of my eyes and the care 
Of my hands ? Then I turn'd me self-banish'd and 

came 
Into Thessaly here, where I met with the same 
As myself. I have heard how they met by a stream 
In games, and were suddenly changed by a scream 
That made wretches of many, as she roll'd ]wr wild 

eyes 
Against heaven, and so vanish'd. — The gentle and 

wise 
Lose their thoughts in deep studies, and otiiera 

their ill 
In the mirth of mankind where they mingle them 

still. 

THE TWO PEACOCKS OF BEDFONT 



Alas ! that breathing Vanity should go 
Where Pride is buried, — like its very ghost, 

Uprisen from the naked bones below, 
In novel flesh, clad in the silent boast 

Of gaudy silk that flutters to and fro. 
Shedding its chilling superstition most 

On young and ignorant natures — as it wont 

To haunt the peaceful churchyard of Bedlbnt ! 

II, 

Each Sabbath morning, at the hour of prayer, 

Behold two maidens, up the quiet green 
Shining, far distant, in the summer air 



102 THE TWO PEACOCKS OF BEDFONT. 

Tliat flaunts their de"wy robes and breathes bo 
tween 
Their downy plumes, — sailing as if they were 

Two far-off ships, — until they brush between 
The churchyard's humble walls, and watch and 

wait 
On either side of the wide open'd gate. 



And there they stand — with haughty necks before 
God's holy house, that points towards the skies — 

Frowning reluctant duty from the poor, 

And tempting homage from unthoughtful eyes ; 

And Youth looks lingering from the temple door. 
Breathing its wishes in unfruitful sighs, 

With pouting lips, — forgetful of the grace, 

Of health, and smiles, on the heart-conscious 
face ; — 

IV. 

Because that Wealth, which has no bliss beside, 
May wear the happiness of rich attire ; 

And those two sisters, in their silly pride, 
May change the soul's warm glances for the 
fire 

Of lifeless diamonds ; — and for health denied, — 
With art, that blushes at itself, inspire 

Their languid cheeks — and flourish in a glory 

That has no life in life, nor after-story. 



The aged priest goes shaking his gray haii 
In meekest censuring, and turns his eye 

Earthward in grief, and heavenward in pray'r, 
And sighs, and clasps his hands, and passes by. 

Good-hearted man ! what sullen soul would wear 
Thy sorrow for a garb, and constantly 

Put on thy censure, that might win the praise 

Of one so gray in goodness and in days ? 



TUK TWO PKACOCKS OF HKDFONT. 103 



vr. 

Also the solemn clerk partakes the shame 
Of this ungodly shine of human pride, 

And sadly blends his reverence and blame 
In one grave bow, and passes with a stride 

Impatient : — many a red-hooded dame 

Turns her pain'd head, but not her glance, aside 

From wanton dress, and marvels o'er again, 

That heaven hath no wet judgments for the vain. 

VII. 

' I have a lily in the bloom at home," 
Quoth one, " and by the blessed Sabbath day 

I'll pluck my lily in its pride, and come 
And read a lesson uf)on vain array ; — 

And when stiff silks are rustling up, and some 
Give place, I 'II shake it in proud eyes and say — 

Making my reverence, — ' Ladies, an you please, 

King Solomon's not half so fine as these.' " 

VIII. 

Then her meek partner, who has nearly run 

His earthly course, — " Nay, Good}', let your text 

Grow in the garden. — We have only one — 

Who knows that these dim eyes may see the 
next ? 

Summer will come again, and summer sun, 
And lilies too, — but 1 were sorely vext 

To mar my garden, and cut short the blow 

Of the last lily I may live to gi-ow." 

IX. 

" The last ! " quoth she, " and though the last it 
were — 
Lo! those two wantons, where they stand so 
proud 
With waving plumes, and jewels in their hair. 
And painted cheeks, like Dagons to be bow'd 



104 THE TWO PEACOCKS OF BEDPONT. 

And curtsey'd to ! — last Sabbath after pray'r, 

I heard the httle Tomkins ask aloud 
If they were angels — but I made him know 
God's bright ones better, with a bitter blow ! " 



So speaking, they pursue the pebbly walk 

That leads to the white porch the Sunday throng, 

Hand-coupled urchins in restrained talk, 

And anxious pedagogue that chastens wrong, 

And posied churchwarden with solemn stalk, 
And gold-bedizen'd beadle flames along, 

And gentle peasant clad in buff and green, 

Like a meek cowslip in the spring serene ; 

XI. 

And blushing maiden — modestly array 'd 

In spotless white, — still conscious of the glass ; 

And she, the lonely widow, that hath made 
A sable covenant with grief, — alas ! 

She veils her tears under the deep, deep shade, 
While the poor kindly-hearted, as they pass, 

Bend to unclouded childhood, and caress 

Her boy, — so rosy ! — and so fatherless ! • 

XII. 

Thus, as good Christians ought, they all draw near 
The fair white temple, to the timely call 

Of pleasant bells that tremble in the ear. — 

Now the last frock, and scarlet hood, and shawl 

Fade into dusk, in the dim atmosphere 

Of the low porch, and heav'n has won them all, 

—Saving those two, that turn aside and pass. 

In velvet blossom, where all flesh is grass. 

XIII. 

Ah me I to see their silken manors trail'd 

In purple luxuries — with restless gold, — 
Flaunting the grass where widowhood has wail'd 



THE TWO PP:AC0CK8 OF BEDFOXT. 106 

Tn blotted black, — over the lieapy mould 
Panting wave-wantonly ! They never (juaii'd 

How the warm vanity abused the cold ; 
Nor saw the solemn faces of the gone 
Sadly uplooking through transparent stone : 



]5ut swept their dwellings with unquiet light, 
Shocking the awful presence of the dead ; 

Where gracious natures would their eyes benight. 
Nor wear their being with a lip too red. 

Nor move too rudely in the summer bright 
Oi' sun, but put staid sorrow in their tread, 

Meting it into steps, with inward breath, 

In very pity to bereaved death. 

XV. 

Now in the church, time-sober'd minds resign 
To solemn pray'r, and the loud chaunted hymn, — 

With glowing picturings of joys divine 

Painting the mistlight where the roof is dim ; 

But youth looks upward to the window shine, 
Warming with rose and purple and the swim 

Of gold, as if thought-tinted by the stains 

Of gorgeous light through many-colour'd panes ; 

XVI. 
Soiling the virgin snow wherein God hath 

Eni-obed his angels, — and with absent eyes 
Hearing of Heav'n, and it& directed path, 

Thoughtful of slij)pers, — and the glorious skies 
Clouding with satin, — till the preacher's wrath 

Consumes his pity, and he glows, and cries 
With a deep voice that trembles in its might, 
And earnest eyes grown eloquent in light : 



Oh, that the vacant eye would learn to look 
On very beauty, and the heart embrace 



106 THE TWO PEACOCKS OF BEDFONT. 

True loA'-eliness, and from this holy book 

Drink the warm-breathing tenderness and 
grace 

Of love indeed ! Oh, that the yoimg soul took 
Its virgin passion from the glorious face 

Of fair religion, and address'd its strife, 

To win the riches of eternal life ! 

XVIII. 

" Doth the vain heart love glory that is none, 
And the poor excellence of vain attire V 

Oh go, and drown your eyes against the sun, 
The visible ruler of the starry quire, 

Till boiling gold in giddy eddies run, 

Dazzling the brain with orbs of living fire ; 

And the faint soul down darkens into night, 

And dies a burning martyrdom to light. 

XIX. 

*' Oh go, and gaze, — when the low winds of ev*ii 
Breathe hymns, and Nature's many forests 
nod 

Their gold-crown'd heads ; and the rich blooms of 
heav'n 
Sun-ripen'd give their blushes up to God ; 

And mountain-rocks and cloudy steeps are riv'n 
By founts of fire, as smitten by the rod 

Of heavenly Moses, — that your thirsty sense 

May quench its longings of magnificence ! 

XX. 

" Yet suns shall perish — stars shall fade away — 
Day into darkness — darkness into death — 

Death into silence ; the warm light of day, 

The blooms of summer, the rich glowing br^satlj 

Of even — all shall wither and decay. 

Like the frail furniture of dreams beneath 

The touch of morn — or bubbles of rich dyes 

That break and vanish in the aching eyes." 



THE TWO PEACOCKS OF BEDFONT. lOJ 



They hear, soul-blushing, and repentant shed 
Unwholesome thoughts in wholesome tears, and 
pour 

Their sin to earth, — and with low drooping head 
Receive the solemn blessing, and implore 

Its grace — then soberly with chasten'd tread, 
They meekly press towards the gusty door, 

With humbled eyes that go to graze upon 

The lowly grass — like him of Babylon. 

XXII. 

The lowly grass ! — O water-constant mind ! 

Fast-ebbing holiness ! — soon-foding grace 
Of serious tliought, as if the gushing wind 

Through the low porch had wash'd it from the 
face 
Forever ! — How they lift their eyes to find 

Old vanities ! — Pride wins the very place 
Of meekness, hke a bird, and flutters now 
With idle wings on the curl-conscious brow 1 

XXIII. 

And lo ! with eager looks they seek the way 
Of old temptation at the lowly gate ; 

To feast on feathers, and on vain array, 

And painted cheeks, and the rich glistering 
state 

Of jewel-sprinkled locks. — But where are they, 
The graceless haughty ones that used to wait 

With lofty neck, and nods, and stiffen'd eye '? — 

None challenge the old homage bending by. 

XXIV. 

In vain they look for the ungracious bloom 
Of rich apparel where it glow'd before, — 

For Vanity has faded all to gloom. 

And lofty Pride has stiffen'd to the core, 



108 THE TWO SWANS. 

For impious Life to tremble at its doom, — 

Set for a warning token evermore-, 
Whereon, as now, the giddy and the wise 
Shall gaze with lifted hands and wond'ring eyes. 

XXV. 

The aged priest goes on each sabbath morn, 
But shakes not sorrow under his gray hair ; 

Tlie solemn clerk goes lavender'd and shorn, 
Nor stoops his back to the ungodly pair ; — 

And ancient lips that pucker'd up in scorn, 
Go smoothly breathing to the house of pray'r ; 

And in the garden-plot, from day to day, 

The lily blooms its long white life away. 

XXVI. 

And where two haughty maidens used to be, 

In pride of plume, where plumy Death had trod^ 
Trailing the gorgeous velvets wantonly. 

Most unmeet pall, over the holy sod; — 
There, gentle stranger, thou may'st only see 

Two sombre Peacocks. Age, with sapient nod 

Marking the spot, still tarries to declare 
How they once lived, and wherefore they are 
there. 



THE TWO SWANS. 

A FAIKY TALE, 



[mmortal Imogen, crown'd queen above 
The lilies of thy sex, vouchsafe to hear 
A fairy dream in honour of true love — 
True above ills, and frailty, and all fear — 
Perchance a shadow of his own career 



THE TWO 8VV^\XS. 109 

Wliose youth was darkly prison'd and long 

twined 
By serpent-sorrow, till white Love drew near, 
And sweetly sang him free, and round his mind 
A. brigiit horizon threw, wherein no grief may 

wind. 

II. 

I saw a tower builded on a lake, 

Mock'd by its inverse shadow, dark and deep — 

That seem'd a still intenser night to make. 

Wherein the quiet waters sunk to sleep, — 

And, whatso'er Avas prison'd in that keep, 

A monstrous Snake was warden: — round and 

round 
In sable ringlets I beheld him creep 
Blackest amid black shadows to the ground, 
Whilst his enormous head the topmost turret 

crown'd. 

III. 
From whence he shot fierce light against the 

stars. 
Making the pale moon paler with affright ; 
And with his ruby eye out-threaten'd Mars — 
That blazed in the mid-heavens, hot and 

bright — 
Nor slept, nor wink'd, but with a steadfast spite 
Watch'd their wan looks and tremblings in the 

skies ; 
And that he might not slumber in the night, 
The curtain-lids were pluck'd from his large 

eyes, 
So he might never drowse, but watch his secret 

prize. 

IV. 

Prince or princess in dismal durance pent, 
Victims of old Enchantment's love or hate, 



110 THE TWO SWANS. 

Their lives must all in painful sighs be spent, 
Watching the lonely waters soon and late, 
And clouds that pass and leave them to their 

fate, 
Or company their grief with heavy tears : — 
Meanwhile that Hope can spy no golden gate 
For sweet escapement, but in darksome fears 
They weep and pme away as if immortal years. 



No gentle bird with gold upon its wing 
Will perch upon the grate — the gentle bird . 
Is safe in leafy dell, and will not bring 
Freedom's sweet key-note and commission word 
Learn'd of a fairy's lips, for pity stirr'd — • 
Lest while he trembling sings, untimely guest ! 
Watch'd by that cruel Snake and darkly heard, 
He leave a widow on her lonely nest, 
To press in silent grief the darlings of her breast. 

VI. 

No gallant knight, adventurous, in his bark, 
Will seek the fruitful perils of the place. 
To rouse with dipping oar the waters dark 
That bear that serpent-image on their face. 
And Love, brave Love ! though he attempt the 



Nerved to his loyal death, he may not win 
His captive lady from the strict embrace 
Of that foul Serpent, clasping her within 
His sable folds— like Eve enthrall'd by the old 
Sin. 



VII. 



But there is none — no knight in panoply, 
Nor Love, intrench'd In his strong steely coat 
No little speck — no sail — no helper nigh, 
No sign— no whi8])ering — no plash of boat :— 
The distant shores show dimly and remote, 



THE TWO SWANS. 1J\ 

Made of a deeper mist, — serene and gray, — 
And slow and mute the cloudy shadows float 
Over the gloomy wave, and pass away, 
Chased by the silver beams that on their marges 
play. 

VIII. 

And bright and silvery the willows sleep 
Over the shady verge — no mad winds tease 
Their hoary heads ; but quietly they weep 
There sprinkling leaves — half fountains and half 

trees : 
There lilies be — and fairer than all these, 
A solitary Swan her breast of snow 
Launches against the wave that seems to freeze 
Into a chaste reflection, still below 
Twin-shadow of herself wherever she mav go. 



And forth she paddles in the very noon 
Of solemn midnight like an elfin thing. 
Charm'd into being by the argent moon — 
Whose silver light for love of her fair wing 
Goes with her in the shade, still worshipping 
Her dainty plumage : — all around her grew 
A radiant circlet, like a fairy ring ; 
And all behind, a tiny Httle clue 
Of light, to guide her back across the waters blue. 

X. 

And sure she is no meaner than a fay, 
Redeem'd from sleepy death, for beauty's sake, 
By old ordainment: — silent as she lay, 
Touch'd by a moonlight wand 1 saw her wake, 
And cut her leafy slough, and so forsake 
The verdant prison of her lily peers, 
That slept amidst the stars uj)on the lake — 
A breathing shape — i-estored !<» hiunan teal's, 
And new-born love and grief^ — self-conscious of her 
tears. 



I 1 2 THE TWO HWAXS. 



And now she clasps her wings around her heart, 
And near that lonely isle begins to glide 
Pale as her fears, and ofttimes with a start 
Turns her impatient head from side to side 
In universal terrors — all too wide 
To watch; and often to that marble keep 
Upturns her pearly eyes, as if she spied 
Some foe, and crouches in the shadows steep 
That in the gloomy wave go diving fathoms deep 

XII. 

And well she may, to spy that fearful thing 
All down the dusky walls in circlets wound; 
Alas ! forjwhat rare prize, with many a ring 
Girding the marble casket round and round ? 
His folded tail, lost in the gloom profound, 
Terribly darkeneth the rocky base ; 
But on the top his monstrous head is crown'd 
With prickly spears, and on his doubtful face 
Gleam his unwearied eyes, red watchers of the 
place. 

XIII. 

Alas! of the hot fires thatnightly fall. 
No one will scorch him in those orbs of spite, 
So he may never see beneath the wall 
That timid little creature, all too bright, 
That stretches her fair neck, slender and white, 
Invoking the pale moon, and vainly tries 
Her throbbing throat, as if to charm the night 
With song — but, hush — it perishes in sighs. 
And there will be no dirge, sad swelling thougli 
she dies ! 

XIV. 
She droops — she sinks — she leans upon the lake 
Fainting again into a lifeless flower ; 



THE TWO SWANS. 113 

But soon the chilly springs anoint and wake 
Her spirit from its death, and with new power 
She sheds her stifled sorrows in a shower 
Of tender song, timed to her falling tears — 
That wins the shady summit of that tower, 
And, trembling all the sweeter for its fears, 
Fills with imploring moan that cruel monster's 
ears. 

XV. 
And, lo ! the scaly beast is all deprest, 
Subdued like Argus, by the might of sound — 
What time Apollo his sweet lute addrest 
To magic converse with the air, and bound 
The many monster eyes, all slumber-drown'd: — 
So on the turret-top that watchful Snake 
Pillows his giant head, and lists profound, 
As if his wrathful spite would never wake, 
Charm'd into sudden sleep for Love and Beauty's 
sake ! 

XVI. 

His prickly crest lies prone upon his crown, 
And thirsty lip from lip disparted flies. 
To drink that dainty flood of music down — 
His scaly throat is big with "pent-up sighs — 
And whilst his hollow ear entranced lies, 
His looks for envy of the charmed sense 
Are fain to listen, till his steadfast eyes. 
Stung into pain by their own imj)Otence, 
Distil enormous tears into the lake immense. 

XVII. 

Oh, tuneful Swan ! Oh, melancholy bird ! 
Sweet was that midnight miracle of song, 
Rich with ripe sorrow, needful of no word 
To tell of pain, and love, and love's deep 

wrong- 
Hinting a piteous tale — perehance how long 
VOL. I, 8 



114 THE TWO SWAXS. 

Thy unknown tears were mingled with the lake, 
What time disguised thy leafy mates among — 
And no eye knew what human love and ache 
Dwelt in those dewy leaves, and heart so nigh to 
break. 



Therefore no poet will ungently touch 
The water-lily, on whose eyelids dew 
Trembles like tears ; but ever hold it such 
As human pain may wander through and 

through, 
Turning the pale leaf paler in its hue — 
Wherein life dwells, transfigured, not entomb'd, 
By magic spells. Alas ! who ever knew 
Sorrow in all its shapes, leafy and plumed, 
Or in gross husks of brutes eternally inhumed ? 



And now the winged song has scaled the height 
Of that dark dwelling, builded for despair, 
And soon a little casement flashing bright 
Widens self-open'd into the cool air — 
That music like a bird may enter there 
And soothe the captive in his stony cage; 
For there is nought of grief, or painful care, 
But plaintive song may happily engage 
From sense of its own ill, and tenderly assuage. } 



XX. 

And forth into the light, sni.all and remote, 
A creature, like the fair son of a king, 
Draws to the lattice in his jewell'd coat 
Against the silver moonlight glistening. 
And leans upon his white" hand listening 
To that sweet music that with tenderer tone 
Salutes him, wondering what kindly thing 
^ Is come to soothe him with so tuneful moan, 
Singing beneath the walls as i*f for him alone I 



THE TWO SWANS. 115 

XXI. 

And -while he listens, the mysterious song, 
Woven Avith timid particles of sj^eech, 
Twines into passionate words that grieve along 
The melancholy notes, and softly teach 
The secrets of true love, — that trembling reach 
His earnest ear, and through the shadows dun 
He missions like replies, and each to each 
Their silver voices mingle into one, 
Like blended streams that make one music as they 
run. 

XXII. 

"Ah ! Love, my hope is swooning in my heart,—- 
Aye, sweet, my cage is strong and hung full high- 
Alas ! our lips are held so far apart. 
Thy words come faint, they have so far to fly !— 
If I may only shun that serpent-eye, — 
Ah me ! that serpent-eye doth never sleep ; — 
Then, nearer thee. Love's martyr, I will die ! — 
Alas, alas ! that Avord has made me Aveep ! 
For pity's sake remain safe in thy marble keep ! 

XXIII. 

My marble keep ! it is my marble tomb — 

Nay, sweet ! but thou hast there thy living 

breath — 
Aye to expend in sighs for this hard doom ; — 
But I will come to thee and sing beneath, 
And nightly so beguile this serpent wreath ; — 
Nay, I AviU'find a path from these despairs. 
Ah, needs then thou must tread the back of 

Death, 
Making his stony ribs thy stony stairs. — 
Behold his ruby eye, how fearfully it glares ! ** 

XXIV. 

Full sudden at these words, the princely youth 
Leaps on the scaly back that slumbers, still 



116 THE TWO SWANS. 

Unconscious of his foot, yet not for ruth, 
But numb'd to dulness by the fairy skill 
Of that sweet music (all more wild and shrill 
For intense fear) that charm'd him as he lay — 
Meanwhile the lover nerves his desperate will, 
Held some short throbs by natural dismay. 
Then down, down the serpent-track begins hia 
darksome way. 

XXV. 

Now dimly seen — now toiling out of sight, 
Echpsed and cover'd by the envious wall ; 
Now fair and spangled in the sudden light, 
And clinging with wide arms for fear of fall ; 
Now dark and shelter'd by a kindly pall 
Of dusky shadow from his wakeful foe ; 
Slowly he winds adown — dimly and small, 
Watch'd by the gentle Swan that sings below, 
Her hope increasing, stiU, the larger he doih grow 



But nine times nine the serpent folds embrace 
The marble walls about — which he must tread 
Before his anxious foot may touch the base : 
Long is the dreary path, and must be sped ! 
But Love, that holds the mastery of dread, 
Braces his spirit, and with constant toil 
He wins his way, and now, with arms out- 
spread, 
Impatient plunges from the last long coil : 
So may all gentle Love ungentle Malice foil. 

XXVII. 

The song is hush'd, the charm is all complete, 
And two fair Swans are swimming on the lake : 
But scarce their tender bills have time to meet, 
When fiercely drops adown that cruel Snake — 
His steely scales a fearful rustling make, 
Like autumn leaves that tremble and foretell 



THE TWO SWANS. |17 

The sable storm ;— the plumy lovers quake — 

And feel the troubleil waters pant and swell, 

Heaved by the giant bulk of their pursuer fell. 



His jaws, wide yawning like the gates of Death, 
Hiss horrible pursuit — his red eyes glare 
The waters into blood — his eager breath 
Grows hot upon their plumes : — now, minstrel 

fair ! 
She drops her ring into the waves, and there 
It widens all around, a fairy ring 
Wrought of the silver light — the fearful pair 
Swim in the very midst, and pant and cUng 
The closer for their fears, and tremble wing to 



XXIX. 

Bending their course over the pale gray lake, 

Against the pallid East, wherein light play'd 

In tender flushes, still the baffled Snake 

Circled them round continually, and bay'd 

Hoarsely and loud, forbidden to invade 

The sanctuary ring — his sable mail 

Roll'd darkly through the flood, and writhed and 

made 
A shining track over the waters pale, 
Lash'd into'boiling foam by his enormous tail. 

XXX. 

And so they sail'd into the distance dim, 
Into the very distance — small and white, 
Like snowy blossoms of the spring that swim 
Over the bi'ooklets — ^follow'd by the spite 
Of that huge Serpent, that with wild affright 
Worried them on their course, and sore annoy, 
Till on the grassy marge I saw them 'light, 
And change, anon, a gentle girl and boy, 
Lock'd in embrace of sweet unutterable joy 1 



118 THE DREAM OF EUGENE ARAM. 



XXXI. 

Then came the Morn, and with her pearljf 

showers 
Wept on them, like a mother, in whose eyes 
Tears are no grief ; and from his rosy bowers 
The Oriental sun began to rise, 
Chasing the darksome shadows from the skies ; 
Wherewith that sable Serpent far away 
Fled, hke a part of night— delicious sighs 
From waking blossoms purified the day. 
And little birds were singing sweetly from each 

spray. 



'i 



-^^'^"^tdJ^ ^y^<^yri 



THE DREAM OF EUGENE ARAM. 

'TwAS in the prime of summer time, 

An evening calm and cool, 
And four-and-twenty happy boys 

Came bounding out of school : 
There were some that ran and some that leapt, 

Like troutlets in a pool. 

Away they sped with gamesome minds, 

And souls untouch'd by sin ; 
To a level mead they came, and there 

They drave the wickets in : 
Pleasantly shone the setting sun 

Over the town of Lynn. 

Like sportive deer they coursed about, 

And shouted as they ran, — 
Turning to mirth all things of earth, 

As only boyhood can ; 
But the Usher sat remote from all, 

A melancholy man 1 



THK I>REAM OF EUGENE ARAM. Ill 

His hat was off, his vest apart, 

To catfh heaven's blessed breeze ; 

For a burning thou"^ht was in his brow, 
And his bosom ill at ease : 

So he lean'd his head on his hands, and read 
The book between his knees ! 

Leaf after leaf he turn'd it o'er, 

Nor ever glanced aside, 
For the peace of his soul he read that book 

In the golden eventide : 
Much study had made him very lean, 

And pale, and leaden-eyed. 

At last he shut the ponderous tome. 

With a fast and fervent grasp 
He strain'd the dusky covers close, 

And fix'd the brazen hasp : 
" Oh, God ! could I so close my mind. 

And clasp it with a clasp ! " 

Then leaping on his feet upright. 

Some moody turns he took, — 
Now up the mead, then down the mead, 

And past a shady nook, — 
And, lo ! he saw a little boy 

That pored upon a book I 

" My gentle lad, what is 't you read — 

Romance or fairy fable V 
Or is it some historic page, 

Of kings and crowns unstable ? " 
The young boy gave an upward glance, — 

*' It is ' The Death of Abel.' " 

The Usher took six hasty strides, 

As smit with sudden pain, — 
Six hasty strides beyond the place, 

Then slowly back again ; 



r?0 THE DREAM OF EUGENE ARAM. 

And down he sat beside the lad, 
And talk'd with him of Cain ; 

And, long since then, of bloody men, 

Whose deeds tradition saves ; 
Of lonely folk cut off unseen, 

And hid in sudden graves ; 
Of horrid stabs, in groves forlorn, 

And murders done in caves ; 

And how the sprites of injured men 
Shriek upward from the sod, — 

Ay, how the ghostly hand will point 
To show the burial clod ; 

And unknown facts of guilty acts 
Are seen in dreams from God ! 

He told how murderers walk the earth 
Beneath the curse of Cain, — 

With crimson clouds before their eyes, 
And flames about their brain : 

For blood has left upon their souls 
Its everlasting stain ! 

" And well," quoth he, " I know, for truth, 
Their pangs must be extreme, — 

Woe, woe, unutterable woe, — 

Who spill life's sacred stream ! 

For why ? Methought, last night, I wrought 
A murder, in a dream ! 

■' One that had never done me wrong — 

A feeble man and old ; 
I led him to a lonely field, — 

The moon shone clear and cold : 
Now here, said I, this man shall die, 

And I will have his gold ! 

" Two sudden blows with a ragged stick, 
And one with a heavy stone. 



THE DKEAM UF EUGENE ARAM. 12i 

One hurried gash with a hasty knife,— 

And then the deed was done : 
Tliere was nothing lying at my foot 

But lifeless flesh and bone ! 

" Nothing but lifeless flesh and bone, 

That could not do me ill ; 
And yet I fear'd him all the more, 

For lying there so still : 
There was a manhood in his look, 

That murder could not kill 1 

" And, lo ! the universal air 

Seem'd lit with ghastly flame ; — ■ 
Ten thousand thousand dreadful eyes 

Were looking down in blame : 
I took the dead man by his hand, 

And call'd upon his name ! 

" Oh, God ! it made me quake to see 

Such sense within the slain ! 
But when I touch'd the lifeless clay, 

The blood gush'd out amain ! 
For every clot, a burning spot 

AVas scorching in my brain ! 

*' My head was like an ardent coal, 

My heart as solid ice ; 
My wretched, wretched soul, I knew, 

AVas at the Devil's price : 
A dozen times I groan'd ; the dead 

Had never groan'd but twice ! 

" And now, from forth the frowning sky, 
From the Heaven's topmost height, 

1 heard a voice — the awfid voice 

Of the blood-avenging sprite : — 

' Thou guilty man ! take up thy dead 
And hide it from my sight ! ' 



122 THE DREAM OF EUGENE ARAM, 

" I took the dreary body up, 

And cast it in a stream, — 
A sluggish water, black as ink, 

The depth was so extreme : — 
My gentle Boy, remember this 

Is nothing but a dream ! 

*' Down went the corse with a hollow plunge, 

And vauish'd in the pool ; 
Anon I cleansed my bloody hands, 

And wash'd my forehead cool, 
And sat among the urchins young, 

That evening in the school. 

" Oh, Heaven ! to think of their white souls, 
And mine so black and grim ! 

I could not share in childish prayer. 
Nor join in Evening Hymn : 

Like a Devil of the Pit I seem'd, 
'Mid holy Cherubim ! 

" And peace went with them, one and ail, 
And each calm pillow spread ; 

But Guilt was my grim Chamberlain 
That lighted me to bed ; 

And drew my midnight curtains roimd, 
With fingers bloody red ! 

" All night I lay in agony. 

In anguish dark and deep. 
My fever'd eyes I dared not close, 

But stared aghast at Sleep: 
For Sin had render'd unto her 

The keys of Hell to keep ! 

" All night I lay in agony. 

From weary chime to chime, 
With one besetting horrid hint. 

That rack'd me all the time : 



THE DRKAM OF EUGENE ARAM. 123 

A mlizhty yearning, like the first 
Fierce impulse unto crime ! 

" One stern tyrannic thought, that made 

All other thoughts its slave; 
Stronger and stronger every pulse 

Did that temptation crave, — 
Still urging me to go and see 

The Dead Man in his grave ! 

" Heavily I rose up, as soon 

As light was in the sky. 
And sought the black accursed pool 

With a wild misgiving eye ; 
And I saw the Dead in the river bed, 

For the faithless stream was dry. 

*' Merrily rose the lark, and shook 

The dew-drop from its wing ; 
But I never mark'd its morning flight, 

I never heard it sing : 
For I was stooping once again 

Under the horrid thing. 

*' With breathless speed, like a soul in chase, 

I took him up and ran ; — 
There was no time to dig a grave 

Before the day began : 
In a lonesome wood, with heaps of leaves, 

I hid the murder'd man ! 

" And all that day I read in school, 

But my thought was other where ; 

As soon as the mid-day task was done, 
In secret I was there : 

And a mighty wind had swept the leaves, 
And "still the corse was bare ! 

" Then down I cast me on my face, 
And first began to weep, 



r^4 THE DKEAM OF EUGENE ARAM. 

For T knew my secret then was one 
That earth refused to keep : 

Or land or sea, though he should be 
Ten thousand fathoms deep. 

" So wills the fierce avenging Sprite, 
Till blood for blood atones ! 

Ay, though he 's buried in a cave, 
And trodden down with stones, 

And years have rotted off his flesh, — 
The world shall see his bones ! 

" Oh, God ! that horrid, horrid dream 

Besets me now awake ! 
Again — again, with dizzy brain, 

The human life I take ; 
And my red right hand grows raging hot, 

Like Cranmer's at the stake. 

" And still no peace for the restless clay, 
Will wave or mould allow ; 

The horrid thing pursues my soul,- — 
It stands before me now ! " 

The fearful Boy look'd up, and saw 
Huge drops upon his brow. 

That very night, while gentle sleep 

The urchin eyehds kiss'd. 
Two stern-faced men set out from Lynn, 

Through the cold and heavy mist ; 
And Eugene Aram walk'd between, 

With gyves upon his wrist 



THE ELM TKEE. 125 

THE ELM TREE : 

A DREAM IN THE WOODS. 

•' And this our life, exempt from public haunt, 
Finds tongues in trees." As Ton Like It 

'TwAS ill a shady Avenue, 
Where lofty Elms abound — 
And from a Tree 
There came to me 
A sad and solemn sound, 
That sometimes murmur'd overhead, 
And sometimes underground. 

Amongst the leaves it seem'd to sigh, 

Amid the boughs to moan ; 
It mutter'd in the stem, and then 

The roots took up the tone ; 
As if beneath the dewy grass 

The dead began to groan. 

No breeze there was to stir the leaves ; 

No bolts that tempests launch, 
To rend the trunk or rugged bark 

No gale to bend the branch ; 
No quake of earth to heave the roots, 

That stood so stiff and stanch. 
No bird was preening up aloft. 

To rustle with its wing ; 
No squirrel, in its sport or fear. 

From bough to bough to spring ; 
The solid bole 
Had ne'er a hole 

To hide a living thing ! 

No scooping hollow cell to lodge 
A furtive beast or fowl. 
The martin, bat, 
Or forest cat 



126 THE ELM TREE. 

That nightly loves to prowl, 
Nor ivy nook so apt to shroud 
The moping, snoring owl. 

But still the sound was in my ear, 

A sad and solemn sound. 
That sometimes murmur'd overhead, 

And sometimes underground — 
'Twas in a shady Avenue 

Where lofty Elms abound. 

O hath the Dryad still a tongue 

In this ungenial clime ? 
Have Sylvan Spirits still a voice • 

As in the classic prime — 
To make the forest voluble, 

As in the olden time '? 

The olden time is dead and gone ; 

Its years have fiU'd their sum — 
And e'en in Greece — her native Greece— 

The Sylvan Nymph is dumb — 
From Ash, and Beech, and aged Oak, 

No classic whispers come. 

From Poplar, Pine, and drooping Birch, 
And fragrant Linden Trees ; 
No living sound 
E'er hovers round. 
Unless the vagrant breeze. 
The music of the merry bird. 
Or hum of busy bees. 

But busy bees forsake the Elm 

That bears no bloom aloft — 

- The Finch was in the hawthorn-bush, 

The Blackbird in the croft ; 

And among the firs the brooding Dove, 

That else might murmur soft. 



THE ELM TREE. 12/ 

Yet still I heard that solemn sound, 

And sad it was to boot, 
From ev'ry overhanging bougli, 

And each minuter shoot ; 
From rugged trunk and mossy rind, 

And from the twisted root. 

From these, — a melancholy moan ; 

From those, — a dreary sigh ; 
As if the boughs were wintry bare, 

And wild winds sweeping by — 
Whereas the smallest fleecy cloud 

Was steadfast in the sky. 

No sign or touch of stirring air 

Could either sense observe — 
The zephyr had not breath enough 

The thistle-down to swerve, 
Or force the filmy gossamers 

To take another curve. 

In still and silent slumber hush'd 

All Nature seem'd to be : 
From heaven above, or earth beneath. 

No whisper came to me — 
Except the solemn sound and sad 

From that Mysterious Tree ! 

A hollow, hollow, hollow sound. 

As is that dreamy roar 
When distant billows boil and bound 

Along a shingly shore — 
But the ocean brim was far aloof, 

A hundred miles or more. 

No murmur of the gusty sea, 

No tumult of the beach, 
However they may foam and fret, 

The bounded sense could reach — • 



128 THE ELM TREE. 

Metliought the trees in mystic tongue 
Were talking each to each ! — 

Mayhap, rehearsing ancient tales 
Of greenwood love or guilt, 
Of whisper'd vows 
Beneath their boughs ; 
Or blood obscurely spilt ; 
Or of that near-hand Mansion House 
A Royal Tudor built. 

Perchance, of booty won or shared 
Beneath the starry cope — 

Or where the suicidal wretch 
Huug up the fatal rope ; 

Or Beauty kept an evil tryste, 
Insnared by Love and Hope. 

Of graves, perchance, untimely scoop*d 

At midnight dark and dank — 
And what is underneath the sod 
Whereon the grass is rank — 
Of old intrigues, 
And privy leagues, 
Tradition leaves in blank. 

Of traitor lips that mutter'd plots — 
Of Kin who fought and fell — 

God knows the undiscover'd schemes, 
The arts and acts of Hell, 

Perform'd long generations since. 
If trees had tongues to tell ! 

With wary eyes, and ears alert. 

As one who walks afraid, 
I wander'd down the dappled path 

Of mingled light and shade — 
How sweetly gleam'd that arch of blue 

Beyond the green arcade 1 



THE ELM TREE. 129 

How cheerly shone the glimpse of Heav'n 

Beyond that verdant aisle ! 
All overarch'd with lofty elms, 

That quench'd the light, the while, 
As dim and chill 
As serves to fill 
Some old Cathedral pile ! 

And many a gnarled trunk was there, 

That ages long had stood, 

Till Time had wrought them into shapes 
Like Pan's fantastic brood ; 
Or still more foul and hideous forms 

That Pagans carve in wood ! 

A crouching Satyr lurking here — 

And there a Goblin grim — 
As staring full of demon life 

As Gothic sculptor's whim — 
A marvel it had scarcely been 

To hear a voice from him ! 

Some whisper from that horrid mouth 

Of strange, unearthly tone; 
Or wild infernal laugh, to chill 

One's marrow in the bone. 
But no it grins like rigid Death, 

And silent as a stone ! 

As silent as its fellows be. 

For all is mute with them — 
The branch that climbs the leafy roof— 
The rough and mossy stem — 
The crooked root, 
And tender shoot. 
Where hangs the dewy gem. 

One mystic Tree alone there is, 

Of sad and soleuui sound — 
v-ui.. I. y 



[iiO THE ELM TREE. 

That sometimes murmurs overhead, 
And sometimes underground — 

In all that shady Avenue, 
Where lofty Elms abound. 



PAKT 11. 

The Scene is changed ! No green Arcade, 

No Trees all ranged a-row — 
But scatter'd like a beaten host, 

Dispersing to and fro ; 
With here and there a sylvan corse, 

That fell before the foe. 

The Foe that down in yonder dell 

Pursues his daily toil ; 
As witness many a prostrate trunk, 

Bereft of leafy spoil, 
Hard by its wooden stump, whereon 

The adder loves to coil. 

Alone he works — his ringing blows 

Have banish'd bird and beast ; 
The Hind and Fawn have canter'd off 

A hundred yards at least ; 
And on the maple's lofty top, 

The linnet's song has ceased. 

No eye his labour overlooks, 

Or when he takes his rest ; 
Except the timid thrush that peeps 

Above her secret nest, 
Forbid by love to leave the young 
. Beneath her speckled breast. 

The Woodman's heart is in his worK, 
His axe is sharp and good ; 



THE ELM TREE. 131 

With sturdy arm and steady aim 
He smites the gaping wood ; 

From distant rocks 

His lusty knocks 
Reecho many a rood. 

His axe is keen, his arm is strong ; 

The muscles serve him well ; 
His years have reach'd an extra span, 

The number none can tell ; 
But still his lifelong task has been 

The Timber Tree to fell. 

Through Summer's parching sultriness. 
And Winter's freezing cold, 
From sapling youth 
To virile growth. 
And Age's rigid mould, 
His energetic axe hath rung 
Within that Forest old. 

Aloft, upon his poising steel 

The vivid sunbeams glance — 
About his head and round his feet 

The forest shadows dance; 
And bounding from his russet coat 

The acorn drops askance. 

His ftice is like a Druid's face. 

With wrinkles furrow'd deep. 
And tann'd by scorching suns as brown 

As corn that 's ripe to reap ; 
But the hair on brow, and cheek, and chin, 

Is white as wool of sheep. 

His frame Is like a giant's frame , 

His legs are long and stark ; 
His arms like limiis uT knotted yew; 

His haiuls like niu-cd liark: 



132 THE ELM TREE. 

So he felleth still 
With right good will, 
As if to build an Ark ! 

Oh ! well within His fatal path 

The fearful Tree might quake 
Through every fibre, twig, and leaf, 
With aspen tremour shake ; 
Through trunk and root, 
And branch and shoot, 
A low complaining make ! 

Oh ! well to Him the Tree might breathe 

A sad and solemn sound, 
A sigh that murmur'd overhead. 

And groans from underground ; 
As in that shady Avenue 

Where lofty Elms abound ! 

But calm and mute the Maple stands. 
The Plane, the Ash, the Fir, 

The Elm, the Beech, the drooping Birch, 
Without the least demur; 

And e'en the Aspen's hoary leaf 
Makes no unusual stir. 

The Pines — those old gigantic Pines, 

That writhe — recalling soon 
The famous Human Group that writhes 

With Snakes in wild festoon- 
In ramous wrestlings interlaced 
A Forest Laocoon — 

Like Titans of primeval girth 

DV tortures overcome. 
Their brown enormous limbs they twine, 

Bedew'd with tears of gum — 
Fierce agonies that ought to yell. 

But, like the marble, dumb. 



THE ELM TREE. 133 

Nay, yonder blasted Elm that stands 

So like a man of sin, 
Who, frantic, flings his arms abroad 

To feel the Worm within — 
For all that gesture, so intense, 

It makes no sort of din ! 

An universal silence reigns 

In rugged bark or peel, 
Except that very trunk which rings 

Beneath the biting steel — 
Meanwhile the Woodman plies his axe 

With unrelenting zeal ! 

No rustic song is on his tongue, 

No whistle on his lips ; 
But with a quiet thoughtfulness 

His trusty tool he grips. 
And, stroke on stroke, keeps hacking out 

The bright and flying chips. 

Stroke after stroke, with frequent dint 

He spreads the fatal gash ; 
Till, lo ! the remnant fibres rend, 

With harsh and sudden crash, 
And on the dull resounding turf 

The jarring branches lash 1 

Oh ! now the Forest Trees may sigh, 

The Ash, the Poplar tall, 
The Elm, the Birch, the drooping Beech, 
The Aspens — one and all. 
With solemn groan 
And hollow moan 
Lament a comrade's fall 1 

A goodly Elm, of noble girth, 

That, thrice the human span — 
While on their varieirated course 



1S4 THE ELM TREE. 

Tlie constant Seasons ran — 
Through gale, and hail, and fiery bolt, 
Had stood erect as Man. 

But now, like mortal Man himself, 
Struck down by hand of God, 

Or heathen Idol tumbled prone 
Beneath th' Eternal's nod. 

In all its giant bulk and length 
It lies along the sod ! 

Ay, now the Forest Trees may grieve 
And make a common moan 

Around that patriarchal trunk 
So newly overthrown ; 

And with a murmur recognize 
A doom to be their own I 

The Echo sleeps : the idle axe, 

A disregarded tool, 
Lies crushing with its passive weight 

The toad's reputed stool — 
The Woodman wipes his dewy brow 

Within the shadows cool. 

No Zephyr stirs : the ear may catch 

The smallest insect-hum; 
But on the disappointed sense 

No mystic whispers come ; 
No tone of sylvan sympathy, 

The Forest Trees are dumb. 

No leafy noise, nor inward voice, 

No sad and solemn sound. 
That sometimes murmurs overhead, 

And sometimes underground ; 
As in that shady Avenue, 

Where lofty Elms abound ! 



TEIK ELM TREE. 135 



PART III. 

The deed is done : the Tree is low 

That stood so long and firm ; 
The Woodman and his axe are gone, 

His toil has found its term ; 
And where he wrought, the speckled Thrush, 

Securely hunts the worm. 

The Cony from the sandy bank 

Has run a rapid race, 
Through thistle, bent, and tangled fern, 

To seek the open space ; 
And on its haunches sits erect 

To clean its furry face. 

The dappled Fawn is close at hand, 

The Hind is browsing near, — 
And on the Larch's lowest bough 
The Ousel whistles clear ; 
But checks the note 
AVithin its throat, 
As choked with sudden fear ! 

With sudden fear her wormy quest 

The Thrush abruptly quits — 
Through thistle, bent, and tangled fern 

The startled Cony flits ; 
And on the Larch's lowest bough 

No more the Ousel sits. 

With sudden fear 
The dappled Deer 
Effect a swift escajjc ; 
But well might bolder creatures start, 

And fly, or stand agape. 
With rising hair and curdled blood, 
To see so grim a Shape 1 



136 THE ELM TREE. 

The very sky turns pale above ; 

The earth orrows dark beneath ; 
The human Terror thrills with cold, 

And draws a shorter breath — 
An universal panic owns 

The dread approach of Death ! 

With silent pace, as shadows come, 

And dark as shadows be, 
The grisly Phantom takes his stand 

Beside the fallen Tree, 
And scans it with his gloomy eyes. 

And laughs with horrid glee 

A dreary laugh and desolate, 
Where mirth is void and null, 

As hollow as its echo sounds 
Within the hollow skull — 

" Whoever laid this tree along, 
His hatchet was not dull ! 

" The human arm and human tool 

Have done their duty well ! 
But after sound of ringing axe 
Must sound the ringing knell ; 
When Elm or Oak 
Have felt the stroke 
My turn it is to fell ! 

" No passive unregarded tree, 

A senseless thing of wood, 
Wherein the sluggish sap ascends, 

To swell the vernal bud — 
But conscious, moving, breathing trunks 

That throb with living blood 1 

" No forest Monarch yearly clad 

In mantle green or brown ; 
That unrecorded lives, and falls 



THE ELM TREE. 133 

By hand of rustic clown — 
But Kings who don the purple robe, 
And wear the jewell'd crown. 

" Ah ! little recks the Royal mind, 

Within his Banquet Hall, 
While tapers shine and Music breathes 

And Beauty leads the Ball, — 
lie Uttle recks the oaken plank 

Shall be his palace wall I 

" Ah, little dreams the haughty Peer, 

The while his Falcon Hies — 
Or on the blood-bedabbled turf 

The antler'd quarry dies — 
That in his own ancestral Park 

The narrow dwelling lies. 

" But haughty Peer and mighty King 
One doom shall overwhelm ! 
The oaken cell 
Shall lodge him well 
Whose sceptre ruled a realm — 
While he who never knew a home, 
Shall find it in the Elm ! 

*' The tatter'd, lean, dejected wretch, 

Who begs from door to door, 
And dies within the cressy ditch, 

Or on the barren moor. 
The friendly Elm shall lodge and clothe 

That houseless man and poor ! 

" Yea, this recumbent rugged trunk, 

That lies so long and prone. 
With majiy a fallen a<orn-cup, 

And mast and firry cone — 
This rugged trunk shall hold its share 

Of mortal flesh and bone! 



38 THE ELM TREE. 

" A Miser hoarding heaps of gold, 

But pale with ague-fears — 
A Wife lamenting love's decay, 

AVith secret cruel tears, 
Distilling bitter, bitter drops 

From sweets of former years — 

*' A man within whose gloomy mind 

Offence had darkly sunk, 
Who out of fierce Revenge's cup 

Hath madly, darkly drunk — 
Grief, Avarice, and Hate shall sleep 

Within this very trunk ! 

" This massy trunk that lies along, 

And many more must fall — 

For the very knave 

Who digs the grave, 

The man who spreads the pall, 

And he who tolls the funeral bell. 

The Elm shall have them all I 

" The tail abounding Elm that grows 
In hedgerows up and down ; 

In field and forest, copse and park. 
And in the peopled town, 

With colonies of noisy rooks 
That nestle on its crown. 

" And well th' abounding Elm may grow 

In field and hedge so rife, 
In forest, copse, and wooded park. 

And 'mid the city's strife. 
For, every hour that passes by 

Shall end a human life ! " 

The Phantom ends : the shade is gone ; 

The sky is clear and bright ; 
On turf, and moss, and fallen Tree. 



THE ELM TREE. 139 

There glows a ruddy light; 
And boumliug through the golden fern 
The Rabbit comes to bite. 

The Thrush's mate beside her sits 

And pipes a merry lay ; 
The Dove is in the evergreens ; 

And on the Larch's spray 
The Fly-bird flutters up and down, 

To catch its tiny prey. 

The gentle Hind and dappled Fawn 

Are coming up the glade; 
Each harmless furr'd and feather'd thing 

Is glad, and not afraid — 
But on my sadden'd spirit still 

The Shadow leaves a shade. 

A secret, vague, prophetic gloom, 

As though by certain mark 
I knew the fore-appointed Tree, 

Within whose rugged bark 
This warm and living frame shall find 

Its narrow house and dark. 

That mystic Tree which breathed to me 

A sad and solemn sound, 
That sometimes murmur'd overhead, 

And sometimes underground; 
Within that shady Avenue 

Where lofty Elms abound. 



140 THE HAUNTED HOUSE. 

THE HAUNTED HOUSE. 

A KOMANCB. 

"A jolly place," said he, " in times of old. 
But something ails it now : the place is curst." 

Habt-Leap Well, by Worbswokth. 

PART I. 

Some dreams we have are nothing else but dreams, 
Unnatural and full of contradictions ; 
Yet others of our most romantic schemes 
Are something more than fictions. 

It might be only on enchanted ground ; 
It might be merely by a thought's expansion ; 
But in the spirit, or the flesh, I found 
An old deserted Mansion. 

A residence for woman, child, and man, 
A dwelling-place, — and yet no habitation ; 
A House, — but under some prodigious ban 
Of excommunication. 

Unhinged the iron gates half open hung, 
Jarr'd by the gusty gales of many wintei*s, 
That from its crumbled pedestal had flung 
One marble globe in sphnters. 

No dog was at the threshold, great or small ; 
No pigeon on the roof — no household creature — 
No cat demurely dozing on the wall — 
Not one domestic feature. 

No human figure stirr'd, to go or come, 
No face look'd forth from shut or open casement , 
No chimney smoked — there was no sign of Home 
From parapet to basement 



THE HAUNTED HOUSE. 141 

With sliattcrM panes the grassy court was starr'd; 
The time-worn coping-stone had tumbled after ; 
And through the ragged roof the sky shone, barr'd 
With naked beam and rafter. 

O'er all there hung a shadow and a fear ; 
A sense of mystery the spirit daunted, 
And said, as plain as whisper in the ear, 
The place is Haunted ! 

The flow'r grew wild and rankly as the weed, 
Roses with thistles struggled for espial, 
And vagrant plants of parasitic breed 
Had overgrown the Dial. 

But gay or gloomy, steadfast or infirm. 
No heart was there to heed the hour's duration ; 
All times and tides were lost in one long term 
Of stagnant desolation. 

The wren had built Avithln the Porch, she found 
Its quiet loneliness so sure and thorough ; 
And on the lawn, — within its turfy mound, — 
The rabbit made his burrow. 

The rabbit wild and gray, that flitted through 
The shrubby clumps, and frisk'd, and sat, and 

vanish'd. 
But leisurely and bold, as if he knew 
His enemy was banlsh'd. 

The wary crow, — the pheasant from the woods — 
Lull'd by the still and everlasting sameness. 
Close to the Mansion, like domestic broods, 
Fed with a " shocking tameness." 

The coot was swimming in the reedy pond, 
Beside the water-hen, so soon atfrighted ; 
And In the weedy mod the heron, fond 
Of solitude, ali<ihted. 



142 THE HAUNTED HOUSE. 

The moping heron, motionless and stiff, 
That on a stone, as silently and stilly, 
Stood, an apparent sentinel, as if 
To guard the water-lily. 

No sound was heard, except, from far away, 
The ringing of the Whitwall's shrilly laughter, 
Or, now and then, the chatter of the jay. 
That Echo murmur'd after. 

But Echo never mock'd the human tongue ; 
Some weighty crime, that Heaven could not par- 
A secret curse on that old Building hung, [don. 
And its deserted Garden. 

The beds were all untouch'd by hand or tool ; 
No footstep mark'd the damp and mossy gravel, 
Each walk as green as is the mantled pool. 
For want of human travel. 

The vine unpruned, and the neglected peach, 
Droop'd from the wall with which they used to 

grapple ; 
And on the canker'd tree, in easy reach, 
Eotted the golden apple. 

But awfully the truant shunn'd the ground, 
The vagrant kept aloof, and daring Poacher ; 
In spite of gaps that through the fences round 
Invited the encroacher. 

For over all there hung a cloud of fear, 
A sense of mystery the spirit daunted, 
And said as plain as whisper in the ear, 
The place is Haunted ! 

The pear and quince lay squander'd on the grass ; 
The mould was pni'ple Avith unheeded showers 
Of bloomy plums — a Wilderness it was 
Of fruits, and weeds, and flowers 1 



TUE HAUNTKD HOUSE. 143 

file marigold amidst the nettles blew, 

The gourd embraced the rose-bush in its ramble, 

The thistle and the stock together grew, 

The hollyhock and bramble. 

The bear-bine with the lilac interlaced, 

The sturdy burdock choked its slender neighbour, 

The spicy pink. All tokens were effaced 

Of human care and labour. 

The very yew Formality had train'd 
To such a rigid pyramidal stature, 
For want of trlnuiiing had almost regain'd 
The raggedness of nature. 

The Fountain was a-dry — neglect and time 
Had marr'd the work of artisan and mason, 
And efts and croaking frogs, begot of slime, 
Sprawl'd in the ruin'd bason. 

The Statue, fallen from its marble base, 
Amidst the refuse leaves, and herbage rotten, 
Lay hke the Idol of some bygone race. 
Its name and rites forgotten. 

On ev'ry side the aspect was the same. 
All ruin'd, desolate, forlorn and savage : 
No hand or foot within the precinct came 
To rectify or ravage. 

For over all there hung a cloud of fear, 
A sense of mystery the spirit daunted. 
And said, as plain as whisper in the ear, 
The place is Haunted ! 



PART II. 

O, very gloomy is the House of Woe, 

Where tears are falling while the bell is knelling, 



144 thp: haunted house. 

With all the dark solemnities which show 
That Death is in the dwelling ! 

O very, very dreary is the room 
Where Love, domestic Love, no longer nestles, 
But smitten by the common stroke of doom, 
The Corpse lies on the trestles ! 

But House of Woe, and hearse, and sable pall, 
The narrow home of the departed mortal, 
Ne'er look'd so gloomy as that Ghostly Hall. 
With its deserted portal ! 

The centipede along the threshold crept, 
The cobAveb hung across in mazy tangle. 
And in its winding-sheet the maggot slept, 
At every nook and angle. 

The keyhole lodged the earwig and her brood. 
The emmets of the steps had old possession, 
And march'd in search of their diurnal food 
In undisturb'd procession. 

As undisturb'd as the prehensile cell 
Of moth or maggot, or the spider's tissue, 
For never foot upon that threshold fell, 
To enter or to issue. 

O'er all there hung the shadow of a fear, 
A sense of mj^stery the spirit daunted. 
And said, as plain as whisper in the ear, 
The place is Haunted. 

Howbeit, the door I push'd — or so I dreamed - 
Which slowly, slowly gaped, — the hinges creaking 
With such a rusty eloquence, it seem'd 
That Time himself was speaking. 

But Time was dumb within that Mansion old, 
Or left his tale to the heraldic banners 



THE HAUNTED HOUSE. 145 

Tliat hung from the corroded walls, and told 
Of former men and manners. 

Those tatter'd flags, that with the open'd door, 
Seem'd the old wave of battle to remember, 
Wliile fallen fragments danced upon the floor 
Like dead leaves in December. 

The startled bats flew out — bird after bird — 

The screechowl overhead began to flutter, 

And seem'd to mock the cry that she had 

heard 
Some dying victim utter ! 

A shriek that echoed from the joisted roof, 
And up the stair, and further still and further, 
Till in some ringing chamber far aloof 
It ceased its tale of murther ! 

Meanwhile the rusty armour rattled round, 
The banner shuddei-'d, and the ragged streamer; 
All things the horrid tenor of the sound 
Acknowledged with a tremor. 

The antlers, where the helmet hung and belt, 
Stirr'd as the tempest stirs the forest branches, 
Or as the stag had trembled when he felt 
The bloodhound at his haunches. 

The window jingled in its crumbled frame, 
And thro' its many gaps of destitution 
])olorous moans and hollow sighings came, 
]ake those of dissolution. 

The wood-louse dropp'd, and roll'd into a ball, 
Touch'd by some impulse occult or mechanic ; 
And nameless beetles ran along the wall 
In universal panic. 

VOL. I. 10 



146 THE HAUNTED HOUSE. 

The subtle spider, that from overhead 
Hung like a spy on human guilt and error, 
Suddenly turn'd, and up its slender thread 
Ran witii a nimble terror. 

The very stains and fractures on the wall 
Assuming features solemn and terrific. 
Hinted some Tragedy of that old Hall, 
Lock'd up in hieroglyphic. 

[doubt, 
Some tale that might, perchance, have solved tlio 
Wherefore amongst those flags so dull and livid. 
The banner of the Bloody Hand shone out, 
So ominously vivid. 

Some key to that inscrutable appeal, 
Which made the very frame of Nature quiver ; 
And ev'ry thrilling nerve and fibre feel 
So ague-fike a shiver. 

For over all there hung a cloud of fear, 
A sense of mystery the spirit daunted ; 
And said, as plain as whisper in the ear, 
The place is Haunted ! 

If but a rat had linger'd in the house, 
To lure the thought into a social channel ! 
But not a rat remain'd, or tiny mouse, 
To squeak behind the panel. 

Huge drops roll'd down the walls, as if they wept ; 
And where the cricket used to chirp so shrilly, 
The toad was squatting, and the lizard crept 
On that damp hearth and chilly. 

For years no cheerful blaze had sparkled there, 
Or glanced on coat of buff or knightly metal ; 
The slu^ was crawling on the vacant chair, — 
The snail upon the settle. 



THE HAUNTED HOUSE. 14 7 

The floor was redolent of mould and must, 
The fundus in the rotten seams had quicken'd ; 
While on the oaken table coats of dust 
Perennially had thicken'd. 

No mark of leathern jack or metal eann, 
No cup — no horn — no hospitable token, — 
All social ties between that board and Man 
Had long ago been broken. 

There was so foul a rumour in the air, 
The shadow of a Presence so atrocious ; 
No human creature could have feasted there, 
Even the most ferocious. 

For over all there hung a cloud of fear, 
A sense of mystery the spirit daunted. 
And said, as plain as whisper in the ear, 
The place is Haunted ! 

PART in. 

'Tis hard for human actions to account. 
Whether from reason or from impulse only — 
But some internal prompting bade me mount 
The gloomy stairs and lonely. 

Those gloomy stairs, so dark, and damp, and cold, 
With odours as from bones and relics carnal, 
Deprived of rite, and consecrated mould, 
The chapel vault, or charnel. 

Those dreary stairs, where with the sounding stress 
Of ev'ry step so many echoes blended. 
The mind, with dark misgivings, fear'd to guess 
How many feet ascended. 

The tempest with its spoils had di-ifted in. 

Till ecjh unwholesome stone Avas daikly spotted, 



118 THE HAUNTED HOUSE. 

As thickly as the leopard's dappled skin, 
With leaves that rankly rotted. 

The air was thick — and in the upper gloom 
The bat — or something in its shape — was wing- 
ing; 
And on the wall, as chilly as a tomb, 
The Death's-Head moth was clinging. 

That mystic moth, which, with a sense profound 
Of all unholy presence, augurs truly; 
And with a grim significance flits round 
The taper burning bluely. 

Such omens in the place there seem'd to be, 
At ev'ry crooked turn, or on the landing, 
The straining eyeball was prepared to see 
Some Apparition standing. 

For over all there hung a cloud of fear, 
A sense of mystery the spirit daunted, 
And said, as plain as whisper in the ear, 
The place is Haunted ! 

Yet no portentous Shape the sight amazed ; 
Each object plain, and tangible, and valid ; 
But from their tarnish'd frames dark Figures 

gazed, 
And Faces spectre-pallid. 

Not merely with the mimic life that lies 
"Within the compass of Art's simulation; 
Their souls were looking thro' their painted eyes 
With awful speculation. 

On ev'ry lip a speechless horror dwelt ; 
On e\'ry brow the burthen of afliiction ; 
The old Ancestral Spirits knew and felt 
The House's malediction. 



THE HAUNTED HOUSE. l49 

Such earnest woe tbeir features overcast, 

They might have stirr'd, or sigh'd, or wept, or spokeji; 

But, save the hollow moaning ot" the blast, 

The stillness was unbroken. 

No other sound or stir of life was there, 
Except my steps in solitary clamber, 
From flight to flight, from humid stair to stair. 
From chamber into chamber. 

Deserted rooms of luxury and state, 
That old magnificence had richly furnlsh'd 
With pictures, cabinets of ancient date, 
And carvings gilt and burnish'd. 

Rich hangings, storied by the needle's art, 
With sci-ipture history, or classic fable ; 
But all had faded, save one ragged part, 
Where Cain was slaying Abel. 

The silent waste of mildew and the moth 
Had man-'d the tissue with a partial ravage ; 
But undecaying frown'd upon the cloth 
Each feature stern and savage. 

The sky was pale ; the cloud a thing of doubt ; 
Some hues were fresh, and some decay'd and duller 
But still the Bloody Hand shone strangely out 
With vehemence of colour ! 

The Bloody Hand that with a lurid stain 
Shone on the dusty floor, a dismal token, 
Projected from the casement's painted pane, 
Where all beside was broken. 

The Bloody Hand significant of crime, 
That glaring on the old heraldic banner, 
Had kept its crimson unimpair'd by time. 
In such a wondrous manner ! 



150 THE HAUNTED HOUSE. 

O'er all there hung the shadow of a fear, 
A sense of mystery the spirit daunted, 
And said, as plain as whisper in the ear. 
The place is Haunted ! 

The Death- Watch tick'd behind the panell'd oak, 
Inexplicable tremors shook the arras, 
And echoes strange and mystical awoke. 
The fancy to embarrass. 

Prophetic hints that filFd the soul with dread. 
But thro' one gloomy entrance pointing mostly, 
The while some secret inspiration said, 
That Chamber is the Ghostly ! 

Across the door no gossamer festoon 
Swung pendulous — no web — no dusty fringes, 
No silky chrysalis or white cocoon 
About its nooks and hinges. 

The spider shunn'd the interdicted room, 
The moth, the beetle, and the fly were banish'd, 
And where the sunbeam fell athwart the gloora 
The very midge had vanish'd. 

One lonely ray that glanced upon a Bed, 
As if with awful aim direct and certain, 
To show the Bloody Hand in burning red 
Embroider'd on the curtain. 

And yet no gory stain was on the quilt — 
The pillow in its place had slowly rotted ; 
The floor alone retain'd the trace of guilt, 
Those boards obscurely spotted. 

Obscurely spotted to the door, and thence 
With mazy doubles to the grated casement — 
Oh what a tale they told of fear intense, 
Of horror and amazement ! 



THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS. 1;)1 

What human creature in the dead of ninjht 
Had coursed like hunted hare that cruel distance ? 
Had sought the door, the window, in his flight, 
Striving for dear existence ? 

What shrieking Spirit in that bloody room 
Its mortal frame had violently quitted ? — 
Across the sunbeam, with a sudden gloom, 
A ghostly Shadow flitted. 

Across the sunbeam, and along the wall, 
But painted on the air so very dimly, 
It hardly veil'd the tapestry at all. 
Or portrait frowning grimly. 

O'er all there hung the shadow of a fear, 
A sense of mystery the spirit daunted, 
And said, as plain as whisper in the ear, 
The place is Haunted ! 



THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS, 

"Drown'd! drown'd! "—Hamlet 

One more unfortunate. 
Weary of breath, 
Rashly importunate. 
Gone to her death I 

Take her up tenderly, 
Lift her with care ; 
Fashion'd so slenderly, 
Young, and so fair ! 

Look at her garments 
Clinging like cerements; 



152 THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS. 

Whilst the wave constantly 
Drips from her clothing ; 
Take her up instantly. 
Loving, not loathing. — 

Touch her not scornfully; 
Think of her mournfully, 
Gently and humanly ; 
Not of the stains of her, 
All that remains of her 
Now is pure womanly. 

Make no deep scrutmy 
Into her mutiny 
Rash and undutiful : 
Past all dishonour, 
Death has left on her 
Only the beautiful. 

* Still, for all slips of hers. 
One of Eve's family — / 
Wipe those poor lips of hers 
Oozing so clammily. 

Loop up her tresses 
Escaped from the comb, 
Her fair auburn tresses ; 
Whilst wonderment guesses 
Where was her home ? 

Who was her father ? 
Who was her mother ? 
Had she a sister ? ' 
Had she a brother ? 
Or was there a dearer one 
Still, and a nearer one 
Yet, than all other ? 

Alas ! for the rarity 
Of Christian charity 



THE BT^TDOE OF STGHS. 1 .""..S 

Under the sun ! 
Oh ! it was pitiful ! 
Near a whole city full, 
Home she had none. 

Sisterly, brotherly, 
Fatherly, motherly 
Feelings had changed : 
Love, by harsh evidence. 
Thrown from its eminence ; 
Even God's providence 
Seeming estranged. 

Where the lamps quiver 

So far in the river, 

With many a light 

From window and casement. 

From garret to basement, 

She stood, with amazement. 

Houseless by night. 

The bleak wind of March 
Made her tremble and shiver ; 
But not the dark arch, 
Or the black flowing river : 
Mad from life's history, 
Glad to death's mystery. 
Swift to be hurl'd — 
Any where, any where 
Out of the world 1 

In she plunged boldly, 
Ko matter how coldly 
The rough river ran, — 
Over the brink of it, 
Picture it— think of it. 
Dissolute Man ! 
Lave in it, drink of it, 
Then, if you can ! 



Ifjl THE SONG OF THE SHIRT. 

Take her up tenderly, 
Lift her with care ; 
Fashion'd so slenderly, 
Young, and so fair! 

Ere her limbs frigidly 
Stiffen too rigidly, 
Decently, — kindly, — 
Smooth, and compose them; 
And her eyes, close them, 
Staring so blindly I 

Dreadfully staring 
Thro' muddy impurity. 
As when with the daring 
Last look of despairing 
Fix'd on futurity. 

Perishing gloomily, 
Spurr'd by contumely, 
Cold inhumanity. 
Burning insanity, 
Into her rest. — 
Cross her hands humbly, 
As if praying dumbly. 
Over her breast ! 

Owning her weakness. 
Her evil behaviour. 
And leaving, with meekness. 
Her sins to her Saviour I 



THE SONG OF THE SHIRT. 

With fingers weary and worn, 
With eyelids heavy and red. 



THE SONG OF THE SHIRT. 

A woman sat in unwomanly rag:s, 
Plying her needle and thread — 
Stitch ! stitch ! stitch ! 

In poverty, hunger, and dirt, 

And still with a voice of dolorous pitch 

She sang the " Song of the Shirt ! " 

" Work ! work ! work ! 

While the cock is crowing aloof! 

And work — work — work, 
Till the stars shine through the roof I 
It 's Oh ! to be a slave 

Along with the barbarous Turk, 
Where woman has never a soul to save, 

If this is Christian work ! 

" Work — work — work 

Till the Drain begins to swim; 

Work — work — work 
Till the eyes are heavy and dim ! 
Seam, and gusset, and band, 

Band, and gusset, and seam, 
Till over the buttons I fall asleep, 

And sew them on in a dream ! 

" Oh, Men, with Sisters dear ! 

Oh, Men, with Mothers and Wives 1 
It is not linen you 're wearing out. 

But human creatures' lives I 
Stitch — stitch — stitch. 

In poverty, hunger and dirt, 
Sewing at once, with a double thread, 

A Shroud as well as a Shirt. 

But why do I talk of Death ? 
That Phantom of grisly bone, 
I hardly fear his terrible shape. 
It seems so like my own — 
It seems so like my own, 



56 THE SONG OF THE SHEKT. 

Because of the fasts T keep ; 
Oh, God ! that bread should be so dear, 
And flesh and blood so cheap ! 

" Work — work — work ! 

My labour never flags ; 
And what are its wages ? A bed of straw, 

A crust of bread — and rags. 
That shatter'd roof — and this naked floor — 

A table — a broken chair — 
And a wall so blank, my shadow I thank 

For sometimes falling there ! 

" Work — work — work ! 
From weary chime to chime, 

Work — work — work — 
As prisoners work for crime ! 

Band, and gusset, and seam. 

Seam, and gusset, and band, 
Till the heart is sick, and the brain benumb'd, 

As well as the weary hand. 

" Work — work — work, 

In the dull December light, 

And work — work — work. 
When the weather is warm and bright — 
While underneath the eaves 

The brooding swallows cling. 
As if to show me their sunny backs 

And twit me with the spring. 

" Oh ! but to breathe the breath 
Of the cowslip and primrose sweet — 

With the sky above my head, 
And the grass beneath my feet, 
For only one short hour 

To feel as I used to feel, 
Before I knew the woes of want 

And the walk that costs a meal ! 



THE lady's dream. 153 

" Oh ! but for one short hour ! 

A respite however brief! 
No blessed leisure for Love or Hope, 

But only time for Grief! 
A little weeping would ease my heart, 

But in their briny bed 
My tears must stop, for every drop 

Hinders needle and thread ! " 

With fingers weary and worn, 
With eyelids heavy and red, 
A woman sat in unwomanly rags, 
Plying her needle and thread — 

Stitch ! stitch ! stitch ! 
In poverty, hunger, and dirt. 
And still with a voice of dolorous pitch, 
Would that its tone could reach the Rich ! 
She sang this " Sono; of the Shirt ! " 



THE LADY'S DREAM. 

The lady lay in her bed, 

Her couch so warm and soft. 
But her sleep was restless and broken still ; 

For turning often and oft 
From side to side, she mutter'd and moan'd, 

And toss'd her arms aloft. 

At last she startled up, 

And gazed on the vacant air, 
With a look of awe, as if she saw 

Some dreadful phantom there — 
And then in the pillow she buried her face 

From visions ill to bear. 

The very curtain shook. 
Her terror was so extreme ; 
y 



158 THE lady's dream. 

And the light that fell on the broider'd quilt, 

Kept a tremulous gleam ; 
And her voice was hollow, and shook as she cried :— 
" Oh me ! that awful dream ! 

*' That weary, weary walk. 

In the churchyard's dismal ground ! 
And those horrible things, with shady wings, 

That came and flitted round, — 
Death, death, and nothing but death, 

In every sight and sound ! 

" And oh ! those maidens young. 

Who wrought in that dreary room, ~ 

With figures drooping and spectres thin, 

And cheeks without a bloom ; — 
And the Voice that cried, ' For the pomp of pride. 

We haste to an early tomb ! 

*' * For the pomp and pleasure of Pride, 

We toil like Afric slaves. 
And only to earn a home at last. 

Where yonder cypress waves ; ' — 
And then they pointed — I never saw 

A ground so full of graves ! 

"And still the coffins came. 

With their sorrowful trains and slow ; 

Coffin after coffin still, 

A sad and sickening show ; 

From grief exempt, 1 never had dreamt 
Of such a World of Woe ! 

*' Of the hearts that daily break, 

Of the tears that hourly fall. 
Of the many, many troubles of life. 

That grieve this earthly ball — 
Disease and Hunger, and Pain, and Want, 

But now I dreamt of them all : 



THE lady's dream. 1 5fi 

•' For the blind and the cripple were tlioro, 

And the babe that pined for bread, 
And the houseless man, and the widow poor 

Who besiged — to bury the dead ; 
The naked, alas, that I might have clad, 

The famish'd 1 might have fed ! 

^ The sorrow I might have soothed, 

And the unregarded tears ; 
For many a thronging shape was there, 

From long forgotten years, 
Ay, even the poor rejected Moor, 

Who rais'd my childish fears ! 

" Each pleading look, that long ago 

I scann'd with a heedless eye. 
Each face was gazing as plainly there, 

As when I pass'd it by : 
W^oe, woe for me if the past should be 

Thus present when I die ! 

" No need of sulphureous lake. 

No need of fiery coal, 
But only that crowd of human kind 

Who wanted pity and dole — 
In everlasting retrospect — 

Will wring my sinful soul ! 

"Alas ! I have walk'd through life 

Too heedless where I trod ; 
Nay, helping to trample my fellow worm. 

And fill the burial sod — 
Forgetting that even the sparrow falls 

Not unmark'd of God ! 

" I drank the richest draughts ; 

And ate whatever is good — 
Fish, and flesh, and fowl, and fruit, 

Supplied my hungry mood ; 



I GO THE WOUKHOUSE CLOCK. 

But I never remember'd the wretched ones 
That starve for want of food ! 

" I dress'd as the noble dress, 

In cloth of silver and jrold, 
With silk, and satin, and costly furs, 

In many an ample fold ; 
But I never remember'd the naked limbs 

That froze with winter's cold. 

" The wounds I might have heal'd! 

The human sorrow and smart ! 
And yet it never was in my soul 

To play so ill a part : 
( But evil is wrought by want of Thought, 

As well as want of Heart ! " ] 

She clasp'd her fervent hands, 
And the tears began to stream ; 

Large, and bitter, and fast they fell, 
Remorse was so extreme ; 

And yet, oh yet, that many a Dame 
Would dream the Lady's Dream ! 



THE WORKHOUSE CLOCK. 

AN ALLEGORY. 

There 's a murmur in the air, 
A noise in every street — 
The murmur of many tongues, 
The noise of numerous feet — 
While round the Workhouse door 
The Labouring Classes flock, 
For why ? the Overseer of the Poor 
Is setting the Workhouse Clock. 



Till: WOJJKIlOUiSE CLOCK. 161 

Who does not lieur the tramp 

Of thousands speeding- along 

Of either sex and various stamp, 

Sickly, crippled, or strong, 

Walking, limping, creeping 

From court, and alley, and lane, 

But all in one direction sweeping 

Like rivers that seek the main ? 

Who does not see them sally 

From mill, and garret, and room, 

In lane, and court and alley, 

From homes in poverty's lowest valley, 

Furnished with shuttle and loom — 

Poor slaves of Civilization's galley — 

And in the road and footways rally, 

As if for the Day of Doom ? 

Some, of hardly human form. 

Stunted, crooked, and crippled by toil ; 

Dingy with smoke and dust and oil, 

And smirch'd besides with vicious soil, 

Clustering, mustering, all in a swarm. 

Father, mother, and careful child, 

Looking as if it had never smiled — 

The Sempstress, lean, and weary, and wan, 

With only the ghosts of garments on — 

The Weaver, her sallow neighbour. 

The grim and sooty Artisan ; 

Every soul — child, woman, or man, 

Who lives — or dies — by labour. 

Stirred by an overwhelming zeal, 
And social impulse, a terrible throng ! 
Leaving shuttle, and needle, and wheel. 
Furnace, and grindstone, si)indle, and reel, 
Thread, and yarn, and iron, and steel — 
Yea, rest and the yet untasted meal — 
Gushing, rushing, crushing along, 
A very torrent of Man ! 
VOL. I. 11 



162 THE WORKHOUSE CLOCK. 

Urged by the sighs of sorrow and wronj(, 
Grown at last to a hurricane strong, 
Stop its course who can ! 
Stop who can its onward course 
And irresistible moral force ; 
O ! vain and idle dream ! 
For surely as men are all akin, 
Whether of fair or sable skin. 
According to Nature's scheme, 
f That Human Movement contains within 
A Blood-Power stronger than Steam ] 

Onward, onward, with hasty feet, 
They swarm — and westward still — 
Masses born to drink and eat, 
But starving amidst Whitechapel's meat, 
And famishing down Cornhill ! 
Through the Poultry — but still unfed — 
Christian Charity, hang your head ! 
Hungry — passing the Street of Bread ; 
Thirsty — the Street of Milk ; 
Ragged — beside the Ludgate Mart, 
So gorgeous, through Mechanic- Art, 
With cotton, and wool, and silk ! 

At last, before that door 

That bears so many a knock 

Ere ever it opens to Sick or Poor, 

Like sheep they huddle and flock — 

And would that all the Good and Wise 

Could see the Million of hollow eyes, 

With a gleam derived from Hope and the ski cs, 

Upturn'd to the Workhouse Clock! 

Oh ! that the Parish Powers, 
Who regulate Labour's hours, 
The daily amount of human trial, 
Weariness, pain, and seli-deniaL 
Would turn from tbe artificial dial 



THE LAY OF THE LABOURER. 163 

That striketh ten or eleven, 
And go, for once, by that older one 
That stands in the light of Nature's sun 
And takes its time from Heaven ! 



THE LAY OF THE LABOURER. 

A SPADE ! a rake ! a hoe I 

A pickaxe, or a bill ! 
A hook to reap, or a scythe to mow, 

A flail, or what ye will — 
And here 's a ready hand 

To ply the needful tool, 
And skill'd enough, by lessons rough, 

In Labour's rugged school. 

To hedge, or dig the ditch, 

To lop or fell the tree, 
To lay the SAvarth on the sultry field. 

Or plough the stubborn lea ; 
The harvest stack to bind. 

The wheaten rick to thatch, 
And never fear in my pouch to find 

The tinder or the match. 

To a flaming barn or farm 

My fancies never roam ; 
The fire I yearn to kindle and burn 

Is on the hearth of Home ; 
Where children huddle and crouch 

Through dark long winter days, 
Where starving children huddle and crouch, 

To see the cheerful rays, 
A-glowing on the hnggard cheek, 

And not in the h;igginrs bliize I 



164 THE LAY OF THE LABOUKER. 

To Him who sends a drought 

To parch the fields forlorn, 
The rain to flood the meadows with mud, 

The blight to blast the corn, 
To Him I leave to guide 

The bolt in its crooked path, 
To strike the miser's rick, and show 

The skies blood-red with wrath. 

A spade ! a rake ! a hoe ! 

A pickaxe, or a bill ! 
A hook to reap, or a scythe to mow, 

A flail, or what ye will — 
The corn to thrash, or the hedge to plash, 

The market-team to drive. 
Or mend the fence by the cover side. 

And leave the game alive. 

Ay, only give me work, 

And then you need not fear 
That I shall snare his worship's hare. 

Or kill his grace's deer ; 
Break into his lordship's house. 

To steal the plate so rich ; 
Or leave the yeoman that had a purse 

To welter in a ditch. 

Wherever Nature needs. 

Wherever Labour calls. 
No job I'll shirk of the hardest work, 

To shun the workhouse walls ; 
Where savage laws begrudge 

The pauper babe its breath, 
And doom a wife to a widow's life. 

Before her partner's death. 

My only claim is this, 

With labour stiff and stark, 



THE LAY OF THE LABOURER. IGo 

By lawful turn my livinn to earn, 

Between the litrht and dark ; 
My daily bread, and ni<Tlitly bed, 

My bacon, and drop of beer — 
But all from the hand that holds the laud, 

And none from the overseer ! 

No parish money, or loaf. 

No pauper badges for me, 
A son of the soil, by right of toil 

Entitled to my fee. 
No alms I ask, give me my task : 

Here are the arm, the leg. 
The strength, the sinews of a Man, 

To work, and not to beg. 

Still one of Adam's heirs, 

Though doora'd by chance of birth. 
To dress so mean and to eat the lean. 

Instead of the fat of the earth ; 
To make such humble meals 

As honest labour can, 
A bone and a crust, with a grace to God, 

And little thanks to man 1 

A spade ! a rake ! a hoe 1 

A pickaxe, or a bill ! 
A hook to reap, or a scythe to mow, 

A flail, or what ye will — 
Whatever the tool to ply. 

Here is a willing drudge. 
With muscle and limb, and woe to him 

Who docs their pay begrudge ' 

Who every weekly score 

Docks labour's little mite. 
Bestows on the poor at the temple door, 

But robb'd them over night. 



THE LEE-SHORE. 



Tlie very shilling he hoped to save, 
As health and morals fail, 

Shall visit me in the New Bastile, 
The Spital, or the Gaol ! 



THE LEE-SHORE. 

Sleet ! and Hail ! and Thunder I 
And ye Winds that rave, 

Till the sands thereunder 
Tinge the sullen wave — 

Winds, that like a Demon, 

Howl with horrid note 
Round the toiling Seaman, 

In his tossing boat — 

From his humble dwelling, 

On the shingly shore, 
Where the billows swelling, 

Keep such hollow roar — 

From that weeping Woman, 

Seeking with her cries 
Succour superhuman 

From the frowning skies — 

From the Urchin pining 
For his Father's knee — 

From the lattice shining, 
Drive him out to sea I 

J>et broad leagues dissever 
Him from yonder foam ; — 

Oh, God ! to think Man ever 
Comes too near his Home 1 



JUNES. 167 



IHE DEATH-BED. 

We watch'd her breathing thro' the night, 

Her breathing soft and "low, 
As in her breast the wave of life 

Kept heaving to and fro. 

So silently we seem'd to speaJc, 

So slowly moved about, 
As we had lent her half" our powers 

To eke her living out. 

Our very hopes belied our fears, 

Our fears our hopes belied — 
We thought her dying when she slept, 

And sleeping when she died. 

For when the morn came dim and sad, 

And chill with early showers, 
Her quiet eyelids closed — she had 

Another morn than ours. 



LINES 

ON SEEING MY VTIFK AXT) TWO CTIILDREN SLEEriNG 11! 
THE SAME CHAMBER. 

And has the earth lost its so spacious round, 
The sky its blue circumfei'cnce above. 
That in this little chamber there is found 
Both earth and heaven — my universe of love I 
All that my God can give me or remove, 
Here sleeping, save myself, in mimic death. 
Sweet that in this small compass 1 behove 
To Uve their livinir and to breathe their breath ! 



168 TO MY DAUGHTER. 

Almost I wish that with one common sigh 
We might resign all mundane care and strife, 
And seek together that transcendent sky, 
Where Father, Mother, Children, Husband, Wife, 
Together pant in everlasting life I 
CoBLENTz, Nov. 1835. 



TO MY DAUGHTER, 

ON HER BIRTHDAY. 



Dear Fanny ! nine long years ago, 
While yet the morning sun was low, 
And rosy with the eastern glow 

The landscape smiled ; 
Whilst low'd the newly-waken'd herds- 
Sweet as the early song of birds, 
I heard those first, delightful words, 

" Thou hast a child ! " 



Along with that uprising dew 

Tears glisten'd in my eyes, though few, 

To hail a dawning quite as new 

To me, as Time : 
It was not sorrow — not annoy — 
But like a happy maid, though coy, 
With grief-like welcome, even Joy 

Forestalls its prime. 

III. 

So may'st thou live, dear! many years, 
In all the bliss that life endears. 
Not without smiles, nor yet from tears, 
Too strictly kept : 



TO A cirii.D. 16S 



Wlien first thy injpjint littleness 
I folded in my fond caress, 
The greatest proof of happiness 
Was this — I wept. 
Sept. 1839. 



TO A CHILD 

E3IBRACING HIS MOTHER. 



Love thy mother, little one ! 
Kiss and clasp her neck again, 
Hereafter she may have a son 
Will kiss and clasp her neck in vain. 
Love thy mother, little one 1 

II. 
Gaze upon her living eyes, 
And mirror back her love for thee, — 
Hereafter thou may'st shudder sighs 
To meet them when they cannot see. 
Gaze upon her living eyes ! 

III. 
Press her lips the while they glow 
With love that they have often told,— 
Hereafter thou may'st press in woe, 
And kiss them till thine own arc cold. 
Press her lips the while they glow ! 

IV. 

Oh, revere her raven hair ! 
Altho' it be not silver-gray ; 
Too early Death, led on by Care, 
May snatch save one dear lock away. 
Oh ! revere her raven hair ! 



1 70 STANZAS. 



V. 

Pray for her at eve and morn, 
That Heaven may long the stroke defer,- 
For thou may'st hve the hour forlorn 
When thou wilt ask to die with her. 
Pray for her at eve and morn I 



STANZAS. 

I. 

Farewell Life ! my senses swim, 
And the world is growing dim : 
Thronging shadows cloud the light, 
Like the advent of the night — 
Colder, colder, colder still, 
Upward steals a vapour chill ; 
Strong the earthy odour grows — 
I smell the mould above the rose I 



Welcome Life ! the Spirit strives I 
Strength returns and hope revives; 
Cloudy fears and shapes forlorn 
Fly like shadows at the morn, — 
O'er the earth there comes a bloom ; 
Sunny light for sullen gloom, 
Warm perfume for vapour cold — 
I smell the rose above the mould 1 
April, 1845. 



THE i'OET S PORTION, 



TO A FALSE FRTETs^D. 

r. 

Our hands have met, but not our hearts ; 
Our hands will never meet aGjain. 
Friends, if we have ever been, 
Friends we cannot now remain : 
I only know I loved you once, 
I only knoAv 1 loved in vain ; 
Our hands have met, but not onr hearts ; 
Our hands will never meet again ! 

II. 
Then farewell to heart and hand ! 
I would our hands had never met : 
Even the outward form of love 
Must be resign'd with some regret. 
Friends, we still might seem to be, 
If my wrong could e'er forget 
Our hands have joln'd but not our hearts . 
I would our hands had never met ! 



THE POET'S PORTION. 

What is a mine — a treasury — a dower — 
A magic talisman of mighty power ? 
A poet's wide possession of the earth. 
He has th' enjoyment of a flower's birth 
Before its budding — ere the first red streaks,- 
And Winter cannot rob him of their cheeks. 
Look — if his dawn be not as other men's 1 
Twenty bright flushes — ere another kens 
The first of sunlight is abroad — he sees 
Its golden 'lection of the topuio.st trees, 



) 72 SONG. 

And opes tlie splendid fissures of the morn. 

When do his fruits delay, when doih his corn 

Linger for harvesting ? Before the leaf 

Is commonly abroad, in his piled sheaf 

The flagging poppies lose their ancient flame. 

No sweet there is, no pleasure I can name, 

But he will sip it first — before the lees. 

'Tis his to taste rich honey, — ere the bees 

Are busy with the brooms. He may forestall 

June's rosy advent for his coronal ; 

Before th' expectant buds upon the bough, 

Twining his thoughts to bloom upon his brow. 

Oh ! blest to see the flower in its seed. 

Before its leafy presence ; for indeed 

Leaves are but wings, on which the summer flies, 

And each thing perishable fades and dies. 

Escaped in thought ; but his rich thinkings be 

Like overflows of immortality. 

So that what there is steep'd shall perish never, 

But live and bloom, and be a joy forever. 



SONG. 

O Lady, leave thy silken thread 

And flowery tapestrie : 
There 's living roses on the bush. 

And blossoms on the tree ; 
Stoop where thou wilt, thy careless hand 

Some random bud will meet ; 
Thou canst not tread, but thou wilt find 

The daisy at thy feet. 

'Tis Hke the birthday of the world, 
When earth was born in bloom ; 

The light is made of many dyes, 
The air is all perfume ; 



TIME, HOPE, AND MEMORY. 173 

There 's crimson buds, and white and blue — 

The very rainbow showers 
Have turn'd to blossoms where they fell, 

And sown the earth with flowers. 

There 's fairy tulips in the east, 

The garden of the sun ; 
The very streams reflect the hues, 

And blossom as they run : 
While Morn opes like a crimson rose, 

Still wet with pearly showers ; 
Then, lady, leave the silken thread 

Thou twinest into flowers ! 



TIME, HOPE, AND MEMORY. 

I HEARD a gentle maiden, in the spring, 
Set her sweet sighs to music, and thus sing : 
'' Fly through the world, and I will follow thee, 
Only for looks that may turn back on me ; 

Only for roses that your chance may throw — 
Though wither'd — I will wear them on my bro"w, 
To be a thoughtful fragrance to my brain ; 
Warm'd with such love, that they will bloom again. 

Thy love before thee, I must tread behind, 
Kissing thy foot-prints, though to me unkind ; 
But trust not all her fondness, though it seem, 
Lest thy true love should rest on a false dream. 

Her face is smiling, and her voice is sweet ; 

But smiles betray, and music sings deceit ; 

And words speak false ; — yet, if they welcome 

prove, 
ril be their echo, and repeat their love. 



1 74 FLOWERS. 

Only if waken'd to sad truth, at last, 
The bitterness to come, and sweetness past ; 
When thou art vext, then, turn again, and see 
Thou hast loved Hope, but Memory loved thee.*' 



FLOWERS. 

I WILL not have the mad Clytie, 
Whose head is turn'd by the sun ; 
The tulip is a courtly quean, 
AVhom, therefore I will shun ; 
The cowslip is a country wench, 
The violet is a nun ; — 
But I will woo the dainty rose. 
The queen of every one. 

The pea is but a wanton witch, 
In too much haste to wed, 
And clasps her rings on every hand ; " 
The wolfsbane I should dread ; — 
Nor will I dreary rosemarye, 
That always mourns the dead ;— 
But I will woo the dainty rose, 
With her cheeks of tender red. 

The lily is all in white, like a saint, 

And so is no mate for me — 

And the daisy's cheek is tipp'd with a blush, 

She is of such low degree ; 

Jasmine is sweet, and has many loves, 

And the broom's betroth'd to the bee ;— 

But I will plight with the dainty rose, 

For fairest of all is she. 



176 



TO . 

Still glides the gentle streamlet on, 
With shifting current new and strange ; 
The water that was here is gone, 
But those green shadows never change. 

Serene or ruffled by the storm, 
On present waves, as on the past 
The mirror'd grove retains its form, 
The self-same trees their semblance cast. 

The hue each fleeting globule wears, 
That drop bequeathes it to the next; 
One picture still the surface bears, 
To illustrate the munnur'd text. 

So, love, however time may flow, 
Fresh hours pursuing those that flee, 
One constant image still shall show 
My tide of life is true to thee. 



TO 



Let us make a leap, my dear, 
In our love, of many a year, 
And date it very far away, 
On a bright clear summer day, 
When the heart was like a sun 
To itself, and ialsehood none ; 
And the rosy lips a part 
Of the very loving heart. 
And the shining of the eye 
But a sign to know it by ; — 



176 



When my faults were all forgiven, 
And my life deserved of Heaven. 
Dearest, let us reckon so, 
And love for all that long ago ; 
Each absence count a year complete. 
And keep a birthday when we meet. 



TO 



I LOVE thee — I love thee ! 

'Tis all that I can say ; — 
It is my vision in the night, 

My dreaming in the day ; 
The very echo of my heart, 

The blessing when I pray : 
I love thee — I love thee I 

Is all that I can say. 

I love thee — I love thee ! 

Is ever on my tongue ; 
In all my proudest poesy 

That chorus still is sung ; 
It is the verdict of my eyes, 

Amidst the gay and young : 
I love thee — I love thee ! 

A thousand maids among. 

I love thee — I love thee ! 

Thy bright and hazel glance, 
The mellow lute upon those lips, 

Whose tender tones entrance ; 
But most, dear heart of hearts, thy proofs 

That still these words enhance, 
I love thee — I love thee I 

Whatever be thy chance. 



1-7 



TO 



I. 

^YELCO^IE, dear Heart, and a most kind good- 
morrow ; 
The day is gloomy, but our looks shall shine : — 
Flowers I have none to give thee, but I borrow 
Their sweetness in a verse to speak for thine. 



tiere are red roses, gather'd at thy cheeks, 
The white were all too happy to look white : 
For love the rose, for faith the lily speaks ; 
It withers in false hands, but here 'tis bright ! 



Dost love sweet Hyacinth V Its scented leaf 
Curls manifold, — all love's delights blow double 
'Tis said this flow'ret is inscribed with grief, — 
But let that hint of a forgotten trouble. 



I pluck'd the Primrose at night's dewy noon ; 
Like Hope, it show'd its blossoms in the night ; — 

Twas like Endymion, watching for the Moon 1 
And here are sunflowers, amorous of light ! 



These golden Buttercups are April's seal, — 
The Daisy stars her constellations be : 
These grew so lowly, I was forced to kneel. 
Therefore I pluck no Daisies but for thee 1 

VI. 

Here's Daisies for the morn, Primrose for gloom, 
Pansies and Roses for the noontide hours: — 
A wight once made a dial of tht'ir bloom, — 
(So may thy Hie be measured out by tlowcrs ' 
VOL. I. I'Z 



178 TO 



TO . 

COMPOSED AT ROTTERDAM. 

I GAZE upon a city, — 
A city new and strange, 
Down many a watery vista 
My fancy takes a range ; 
From side to side I saunter, 
And wonder where I am ; 
And can you be in England, 
And 1 at Rotterdam I 

Before me lie dark waters 
In broad canals and deep, 
Whereon the silver moonbeams 
Sleep, restless in their sleep ; 
A sort of vulgar Venice 
Reminds me where I am ; 
Yes, yes, you are in England, 
And I'm at Rotterdam. 

Tall houses with quaint gables, 
Where frequent windows shine, 
And quays that lead to bridges, 
And trees in formal line. 
And masts of spicy vessels 
From western Surinam, 
All tell me you're in England, 
But I'm in Rotterdam. 

Those sailors, how outlandish 
The face and form of each ! 
They deal in foreign gestures, 
And use a foreign speech ; 
A tongue not learn'd near Isis, 
Or studied by the Cam, 



SERENADE. 179 

Declares that you're in England, 
And I'm at Rotterdam. 

And now across a market 
My doubtful way I trace, 
AVhere stands a solemn statue, 
The Genius of the place ; 
And to the great Erasmus 
I offer my salaam ; 
Who tells me you're in England, 
But I'm at Rotterdam. 

The coffee-room is open — 
I mingle in its crowd, — 
The dominos are noisy — 
The hookahs raise a cloud ; 
The flavour now of Fearon's, 
That mingles with my dram, 
Reminds me you're in England, 
And I'm at Rotterdam. 

Then here it goes, a bumper — 
The toast it shall be mine. 
In schiedam, or in sherry, 
Tokay, or hock of Rhine ; 
It well deserves the brightest, 
Where sunbeam ever swam — 
" The Girl I love in England " 
I drink at Rotterdam ! 
Maich, 1835. 



SERENADE. 

I. 

Ah, sweet, thou little knowest how 

I wake and passionate watches keep ; 
And yet, while I address thee now, 



180 VERSES IN AN ALBUM. 

Me thinks thou smllest in thy sleep. 
'Tis sweet enough to make me weep, 

That tender thought of love and thee, 
That while the world is hush'd so deep, 

Thy soul's perhaps awake to me I 

II. 

Sleep on, sleep on, sweet bride of sleep 

With golden visions for thy dower, 
While I this midnight vigil keep, 

And bless thee in thy silent bower ; 
To me 'tis sweeter than the power 

Of sleep, and fairy dreams unfurl'd, 
That I alone, at this still hour, 

In patient love outwatch the world. 



VERSES IN AN ALBUM. 

I. 

Far above the hollow 
Tempest, and its moan, 
Singeth bright Apollo 
In his golden zone, — 
Cloud doth never shade him, 
Nor a storm invade him, 
On his joyous throne. 

II. 

So when I behold me 
In an orb as bright, 
How thy soul doth fold me 
In its throne of light ! 
Sorrow never paineth, 
Nor a care attaineth, 
To that blessed heioht. 



BALLAD. 18i 



BALLAD. 



I. 

It was not In the winter 
Our loving lot was east ; 
It was the time of roses, — 
We pluck'd them as we pass'd 1 

II. 
That churlish season never frown'd 
On early lovers yet ! 
Oh, no — the world was newly crown*d 
With flowers when first we met. 



'Twas twilight, and I bade you go, 
But still you held me flist ; 
It was the time of roses, — 
We pluck'd them as we pass'd 1 



BALLAD. 



Spring it is cheery, 

Winter is dreary, 
Green leaves hang, but the brown must fly ; 

When he's forsaken, 

Wither'd and shaken, 
What can an old man do but die ? 

II. 

Love will not clip him, 
Maids will not lip him, 
Maud and Marian pass him by ; 



182 BALLAD. 

Youth it is sunny, 
Age has no honey, — 
Wliat can an old man do but die ? 

III. 

June it was jolly, 

O for its folly ! 
A dancing leg and a laughing eye ; 

Youth may be silly, 

Wisdom is chilly, — 
What can an old man do but die ? 

IV. 

Friends they are scanty, 
Beggars are plenty. 

If he has followers, I know why ; 
Gold's in his clutches, 
(Buying him crutches !) — 

What can an old man do but die ? 



BALLAD. 

She's up and gone, the graceless Girl 

And robb'd my failing years ; 
My blood before was thin and cold 

But now 'tis turn'd to tears ; — 
My shadow falls upon my grave, 

So near the brink I stand, 
She might have stayed a little yet, 

And led me by the hand ! 

Ay, call her on the barren moor, 

And call her on the hill, 
'Tis nothing but the heron's cry, 

And plover's answer shrill ; 
My child is flown on wilder wings, 



183 



Than they have ever spread, 
And I may even walk a waste 
That widen'd when she fled. 

Full many a thankless child has been, 

But never one like mine ; 
Her meat was served on plates of gold, 

Her drink was rosy wine; 
But now she'll share the robin's food, 

And sup the common rill, 
Before her feet will turn asaia 

To meet her father's will 1 



BALLAD. 

Sigh on sad heart, for Love's eclipse 

And Beauty's fairest queen, 
Tho' 'tis not for my peasant lips 

To soil her name between : 
A king might lay his sceptre down, 

But I am poor and nought, 
I The brow should wear a golden crown 

That wears her in its tliought. j 

The diamonds glancing in her hair, 

Whose sudden beams surprise. 
Might bid such humble hopes beware 

The glancing of her eyes ; 
Yet looking once. 1 look'd too long, 

And if my love is sin, 
Death follows on the heels of wrong. 

And kills the crime within. 

Her dress seem'd wove of lily leaves, 

It was so pure and fine, 
O lofty Avears, and lowly weaves. 



1 81 BALLAD. 

But hoddan gray is mine ; 
And homely hose must step apart, 

Where garter'd princes stand, 
But may he wear my love at heart 

That wins her lily hand ! 

Alas ! there's far from russet frize 

To silks and satin gowns, 
But I doubt if God made like degrees, 

In courtly hearts and clowns. 
My father wrong'd a maiden's mirth, 

And brought her cheeks to blame, 
And all that 's lordly of my birth, 

Is my reproach and shame ! 

*Tis vain to weep, — 'tis vain to sigh, 

'Tis vain this idle speech. 
For where her happy pearls do lie, 

My tears may never reach ; 
Yet when I'm gone, e'en lofty pride 

May say of what has been. 
His love was nobly born and died, 

Tho' all the rest was mean ! 

My speech is rude, — but speech is weak 

Such love as mine to tell. 
Yet had I words, I dare not speak, 

So, Lady, fare thee well ; 
I will not wish thy better state 

Was one of low degree, 
But I must weep that partial fate 

Made such a churl of me. 



THE ROMAXCE OF COLOGNE. ]^h 



THE ROMANCE OF COLOGNE. 

'Tis even — on the pleasant banks of Rhine 
The thrush is singling and the dove is cooing ; 
A Youth and Maiden on the turf rechne 
Alone — and he is wooing. 

Yet wooes in vain, for to the voice of love 
No kindly sympatliy the Maid discovers, 
Though round them both, and in the air above, 
The tender spirit hovers. 

Untouch'd by lovely Nature and her laws, 
The more he pleads, more coyly she represses ; 
Her hps denies, and now her hand withdraws, 
Rejecting his addresses. 

Fair is she as the dreams young poets weave, 
Bright eyes and dainty lips and tresses curly, 
In outward loveliness a child of Eve, 
But cold as nymph of Lurley. 

The more Love tries her pity to engross. 
The more she chills him with a strange behaviour 
Now tells her beads, now gazes on the Cross 
And image of the Saviour. 

Forth goes the lover with a farewell moan, 
As from the presence of a thing unhuman ; — 
Oh, what unholy spell hath turn'd to stone 
The young warm heart of woman ! 

'Tis midnight — and the moonbeam, cold and wan, 
On bower and river quietly is sleeping, 
And o'er the corse of a self-murder'd man 
The Maiden fair is weeping. 



186 THE KEY. 

In vain she looks into liis glassy eyes, 
No pressure answers to her hands so pressing ; 
In her fond arms impassively he lies, 
Clay-cold to her caressing. 

Despairing, stunn'd, by her eternal loss. 
She flies to succour that may best beseem her, 
But, lo ! a frowning figure veils the Cross 
And hides the blest Kedeemer ! . 

With stern right hand it stretches forth a scroll, 
"Wherein she reads, in melancholy letters, 
The cruel, fatal pact' that placed her soul 
And her young heart in fetters. 

" Wretch ! sinner ! renegade ! to truth and God, 
Thy holy faith for human love to barter I " 
No more she hears, but on the bloody sod 
Sinks, Bigotry's last martyr ! 

And side by side the hapless Lovers lie ; 
Tell me, harsh Priest ! by yonder tragic token, 
What part hath God in such a bond, whereby 
Or hearts or vows are broken ? ) 



THE KEY, 



A MOORISH ROMANCE. 

" On the east coast, towards Tunis, the Moors still preserve th« 
keys of their ancestors' houses in Spain; to which country they 
Btill express the hopes of one day returning, and again planting 
the crescent on the ancient walls of the Alhambra." — Scott's 
Travels in Morocco and Algiers. 

"Is Spain cloven in such a manner as to want closing?" — 
Bancho Panza. 

The Moor leans on his cushion, 
With the pipe between his lips ; 



THE KEY. 

And still at frequent intervals 
The sweet sherbet he sips ; 
But, spite of lulling vapour 
And the sober cooling cup, 
The spirit of the swarthy Moor 
Is fiercely kindling up ! 

One hand is on his pistol, 
On its ornamented stock, 
AVhile his finger feels the trigger 
And is busy with the lock— 
The other seeks his ataghan, 
And clasps its jewell'd hilt— 
Oh ! much of gore in days of yore 
That crooked blade has spilt ! 

His brows are knit, his eyes of jet 

In vivid blackness roll, 

And gleam with fatal flashes 

Like The fire-damp of the coal ; 

His jaws are set, and through his teeth 

He draws a savage breath. 

As if about to raise the shout 

Of Victory or Death ! 

For why ? the last Zebeck that came 
And nioor'd within the Mole, 
Such tidings unto Tunis brought 
■ As stir his very soul — 
The cruel jar of civil war, 
The sad and stormy reign, 
Tha« blackens like a thunder-cloud 
The sunny land of Spam ! 

No strife of glorious Chivalry, 
For honour's gain or loss, 
Nor yet that ancient rivalry, 
The Crescent with the Cross. 
No charge of gallant Paladins 



1S7 



188 THE KEY. 

On Moslems stern and stanch ; 

But Christians shedding Christian blood 

Beneath the ohve's branch ! 

A war of horrid parricide, 

And brother killing brother; 

Yea, like to " dogs and sons of dogs " 

That worry one another. 

But let them bite and tear and fight, 

The more the Kaffers slay, 

The sooner Hagar's swarming sons 

Shall make the land a prey ! 

The sooner shall the Moor behold 
Th' Alhambra's pile again ; 
And those who pined in Barbary 
Shall shout for joy in Spain — 
The sooner shall the Crescent wave 
On dear Granada's walls ; 
And proud Mohammed Ali sit 
Within his father's halls ! 

" Alla-il-alla ! " tiger-like 
Upsprings the swarthy Moor, 
And, with a wide and hasty stride, 
Steps o'er the marble floor ; 
Across the hall, till from the wall, 
Where such quaint patterns be, 
With eager hand he snatches down 
An old and massive Key I 

A massive Key of curious shape, 

And dark with dirt and rust. 

And well three weary centuries 

The metal might incrust ! 

For since the^King Boabdil fell 

Before the native stock, 

That ancient Key, so quaint to see, 

Hath never been in lock. 



THE KEY. 189 

Brought over by the Saracens 

Who fled across the main, 

A token of the secret hope 

Of going back again ; 

From race to race, from hand to hand, 

From house to house it pass'd ; 

O will it ever, ever ope 

The Palace gate at last ? 

Three hundred years and fifty-two 
On post and Avail it hung — 
Three hundred years and fifty-two 
A dream to old and young ; 
But now a brighter destiny 
The Prophet's will accords : 
The time is come to scour the rust, 
And lubricate the wards. 

For should the IMoor with sword and lance 

At Algesiras land, 

Where is the bold Bernardo now 

Their progress to withstand ? 

To Burgos should the Moslem come, 

Where is the noble Cid 

Five royal crowns to topple down 

As gallant Diaz did ? 

Hath Xeres any Pounder now. 

When other weapons fail, 

AVith club to thrash invaders rash, 

Like barley with a tlail ? 

Hath Seviile any Perez still, 

To lay his clusters low. 

And ride with seven turbans green 

Around his saddle-bow ? 

JNo ! never more shall Europe see 
Such Heroes brave and liold, 
Such \^d()iii-, Faith, and Loyalty, 



190 THE KEY. 

As used to sWne of old ! 

No longer to one battle cry 

United Spaniards run, 

And with their thronging spears uphold 

The Virgin and her Son ! 

From Cadiz Bay to rough Biscay 

Internal discord dwells, 

And Barcelona bears the scars 

Of Spanish shot and shells. 

The fleets decline, the merchants pine 

For want of foreign trade ; 

And gold is scant ; and Alicante 

Is seal'd by strict blockade ! 

The loyal fly, and Yalour falls, 

Opposed by court intrigue ; 

But treachery and traitors thrive, 

Upheld by foreign league ; 

While factions seeking private ends 

By turns usurping reign — 

Well may the dreaming, scheming Moor 

Exulting point to Spain ! 

Well may he cleanse the rusty Key 
With Afric sand and oil, 
And hope an Andalusian home 
Shall recompense the toil ! 
Well may he swear the Moorish spear 
Through wild Castile shall sweep, 
And where the Catalonian sow'd 
The Saracen shall reap ! 

Well may he vow to spurn the Cross 

Beneath the Arab hoof. 

And plant the Crescent yet again 

Above th' Alhambra's roof 

When those from whom St. Jago's name 

In chorus once arose. 



FAIR INKS. 11)1 

Are sliouting Faction's battle-cries, 
And Spain forgets to " Close ! " 

Well may he swear his ataghan 

Shall rout the traitor swarm, 

And carve them into Arabesques 

That show no human form — 

The blame be theirs whose bloody feuiU 

Invite the savage Moor, 

And tempt him with the ancient Key 

To seek the ancient door 1 



FAIR INES. 

I. 

O SAW ye not fair Ines ? 

She's gone into the West, 

To dazzle when the sun is down, 

And rob the world of rest: 

She took our daylight with her, 

The smiles that we love best, 

W^ith morning blushes on her cheek, 

And pearls upon her breast. 

II. 

turn again, fair Ines, 
Before the fall of night, 

For fear the jMoou should shine alone, 

And stars unrivall'd bright; 

And blessed will the lover be 

That walks beneath their light. 

And breatnes the love against thy cheek 

1 dare not even write ! 

iir. 
Would I had been, iair Ines, 
That nallant cavalier. 



192 FAIR INES. 

Who rode so gayly by thy side, 

And whisper'd thee so near! 

Were there no bonny dames at home, 
Or no true lovers here, 
That he should cross the seas to win 
The dearest of the dear ? 



I saw thee, lovely Ines, 

Descend along the shore, 

With bands of noble gentlemen, 

And banners waved before ; 

And gentle youth and maidens gay, 

And snowy plumes they wore ; — 

It wou'd have been a beauteous dream, 

— If it had been no more ! 



Alas, alas, fair Ines, 

She went away with song. 

With Music waiting on her steps, 

And shoutings of the throng ; 

But some were sad, and felt no mirth, 

But only Music's wrong. 

In sounds that sang Farewell, Farewell, 

To her you've loved so long. 

VI. 

Farewell, farewell, fair Ines, 

That vessel never bore 

So fair a lady on its deck, 

Nor danced so light before, — 

Alas for pleasure on the sea, 

And sorrow on the shore ! 

The smile that blest one lovers hearr 

Has broken many more ! 



T]IE DEl'ARTUUE OF SUMMER. 103 



THE DEPARTURE OF SmtMER. 

Summer is gone on swallows' wings, 

And earth has buried all her flowers : 

No more the lark, the linnet sings. 

But Silence sits in faded bowers. 

There is a shadow on the plain 

Of Winter ere he comes again, — 

There is in woods a solemn sound 

Of hollow Avarnings whisper'd round, 

As Echo in her deep recess 

For onci'. had turn'd a prophetess. 

Shuddering Autumn stops to list. 

And breathes his fear in sudden sighs, 

"With clouded face, and hazel eyes 

That quench themselves, and hide in mist. 

Yes, Summer's gone like pageant bright; 
Its glorious days of golden light 
Are gone — the mimic suns that quiver, 
Then melt in Time's daik-flowing river. 
Gone the sweetly-scented breeze 
That spoke in music to the trees; 
Gone for damp and chilly breath, 
As if fresh blown o'er marble seas. 
Or newly from the lungs of Death. — 
Gone its virgin roses' blushes. 
Warm as when Aurora rushes 
Freshly from the god's embrace. 
With all her shame upon her face. 
Old Time hath laid them in the mould ; 
Sure he is blind as well as old. 
Whose hand relentless never spares 
Young cheeks so beauty-bright as theirs! 
Gone are the flame-eyed lovers now 
From where so blushing-blest they tamed 
Under the hawthorn's blossom-bough, 

VOL. 1. 13 



19-1 THE DEPARTURE OF SUMMER. 

Gone ; for Day and Nisjlit are married. 

All tte light of love is fled : — 

Alas I that negro breasts should hide . 

The lips that were so rosy red, 

At morning and at even-tide ! 

Delightful Summer ! then adieu 
Till thou shalt visit us anew : 
But who without regretful sigh 
Can say, adieu, and see thee fly ? 
Not he that e'er hath felt thy pow'r, 
His joy expanding like a flow'r 
That cometh after rain and snow, 
Looks up at heaven, and learns to glow: — 
Not he that fled from Babel-strife 
To the green sabbath-land of life, 
To dodge dull Care 'mid cluster'd trees, 
And cool his forehead in the breeze, — 
Whose spirit, weary-worn perchance. 
Shook from Its wings a weight of grief, 
And perch'd upon an aspen leaf, 
For every breath to make it dance. 

Farewell ! — on wings of sombre stain, 
That blacken in the last blue skies, 
Thou fly'st ; but thou wilt come again 
On the gay wings of butterflies. 
Spring at thy approach will sprout 
Her new Corinthian beauties out. 
Leaf-woven homes, where twitter-worda 
Will grow to songs, and eggs to birds ; 
Ambitious buds shall swelt to flowers, 
And April smiles to sunny hours. 
Bright days shall be, and gentle nights 
Full of soft breath and echo-lights, 
As if the god of sun-time kept 
His eyes half-open while he slept. 
Roses shall be where roses were, 
Kot shadows, but reality ; 



THE DEPARTURE OF SUMMER. 10'^ 

As if tliey never perish'd there, 

But slept in ininiortaHty ; 

Nature shall thrill with new delight, 

And Time's relumined river run 

Warm as young blood, and dazzling bright. 

As if its source were in the sun ! 

But say, hath Winter then no charms ? 
Is there no joy, no gladness warms 
His aged heart ? no happy wiles 
To clieat the hoary one to smiles ? 
Onward he comes — the cruel North 
Pours his furious whirlwind forth 
Before him — and we breathe the breath 
Of famish'd bears that howl to death. 
Onward he comes from rocks that blanch 
O'er solid streams that never flow, 
His tears all ice, his locks all snow, 
Just crept from some huge avalanche — 
A thing half-breathing and half-warm, 
As if one spark began to glow 
Within some statue's marble form. 
Or pilgrim stiffen'd in the storm. 
Oh ! will not Mirth's light arrows fail 
To pierce that frozen coat of mail ? 
Oh! will not joy but strive m vam 
To light up those glazed eyes again ? 

No ! take him in, and blaze the oak, 
And pour the wine, and warm the ale ; 
His sides shall shake to many a joke, 
His tongue shall thaw in many a tale, 
His eyes grow bright, his heart be gay, 
And even his palsy charm'd away. 
( What heeds he then the boisterous shout 
Of angry winds that scold without. 
Like shrewish wives at tavern door ? ) 
What hei-ds he t!ien the wihl uproar 
Of billows bursting on the shon*. V 



196 THE DEPARTURE OF SUMMER. 

In dashing waves, in howling breeze, 
There is a music that can charm him ; 
When safe, and shelter'd, and at ease, 
He hears the storm that cannot harm him. 

But hark ! those shouts ! that sudden din 
Of little hearts that laugh within. 
Oh ! take him where the youngsters play, 
And he will grow as young as they ! 
They come ! they come ! each blue-eyed Sport, 
The Twelfth-Night King and all his court — 
'Tis Mirth fresh crown'd with mistletoe ! 
Music with her merry fiddles, 
Joy " on light fantastic toe," 
Wit with all his jests and riddles. 
Singing and dancing as they go. 
And Love, young Love, among the rest, 
A welcome — nor unbidden guest. 

But still for Summer dost thou grieve ? 
Then read our Poets — they shall weave 
A garden of green fancies still, 
W^here thy wish may rove at will. 
They have kept for after treats 
The essences of summer sweets, 
And echoes of its songs that wind 
In endless music through the mind : 
They have stamped in visible traces 
The " thoughts that breathe," in words that shine — 
The flights of soul in sunny places — 
To greet and company with thine. 
These shall wing thee on to fiow'rs — 
The past or future that shall seem 
All the brighter in thy dream 
For blowing in such desert hours. 
The summer never shines so bright 
As thought of in a winter's night ; 
And the sweetest loveliest rose 
Is in the bud before it blows ; 



197 



The dear one of the lover's lieart 

Is painted to his longing eyes, 

In charms she ne'er can realize — 

But when she turns again to part. 

Dream thou then, and bind thy brow 

With wreath of fancy roses now, 

And drink of Summer in the cup 

Where the Muse hath unx'd it up; 

The " dance, and song, and sun-burnt mirth, 

With the warm nectar of the earth : 

Drink ! 'twill glow in every vein. 

And thou shalt dream the winter through : 

Then waken to the sun again, 

And find thy Summer Vision true ! 



ODE: 



I. 

I SAW old Autumn in the misty morn 
Stand shadowless like silence, listening 
To silence, for no lonely bird would sing 
Into his hollow ear from woods forlorn, 
Kor lowly hedge nor solitary thorn ; — 
Shaking his languid locks all dewy bright 
With tangled gossamer that fell by niglit. 
Pearling his coronet of golden corn. 

II. 
Where are the songs of Summer ? — With the sun, 
Oping the dusky eyelids of the south, 
Till sTiade and silence waken up as one. 
And Morning sings with a warm odorous mouth. 
Where are the merry birds V— Away, away, 



19S ODK. 

On panting wings through the inclement skies, 

Lest owls should prey 

Undazzlecl at noon-day, 
And tear with horny beak their lustrous eyes. 

III. 

Where are the blooms of Summer ? — In the west, 
Blushing their last to the last sunny hours, 
When the mild Eve by sudden Night is pi est 
Like tearful Proserpine, snatch'd from her flow'rs 
To a most gloomy breast. 
' Where is the pride of Summer, — the green prime, — 
The many, many leaves all twinkling ? — Three 
On the moss'd elm ; three on the naked lime 
Trembling,— and one upon the old oak-tree ! 

Where is the Dryad's immortahty ? — 
Gone into mournful cypress and dark yew, 
Or wearing the long gloomy Winter through 
In the smooth holly's green eternity. } ifirt^^^i^. 

IV. 

The squirrel gloats on his accomplished hoard, 
The ants have brimm'd their garners with ripe 
grain. 

And honey bees have stored 
The Sweets of Summer in their luscious cells; 
The swallows all have wing'd across the main ; 
But here the Autumn melanchol}' dwells, 

And sighs her tearful spells 
Amongst the sunless shadows of the plain. 
Alone, alone. 
Upon a mossy stone. 
She sits and reckons up the dead and gone. 
With the last leaves for a love-rosary, 
Whilst all the wither'd world looks drearily, 
Like a dim picture of the drowned past 
In the hush'd mind's mysterious far away. 
Doubtful Avhat ghostly thing will steal the last 
Into that distance, gray upon the gray. 



I'Jd 



V. 

O go and sit Avith lier, and be o'ershaded 
Under the languid downtall of lier hair : 
She wears a coronal oftiowers faded 
Upon her forehead, and a face of care ; — 
There is enough of wither'd everywhere 
To make her bower, — and enough of gloom; 
There is enough of sadness to invite, 
If only for the rose that died, — whose doom 
Is Beauty's, — she that with the living bloom 
Of conscious cheeks most beautihes the light ; — 
There is enough of son-owing, and quite 
Enough of bitter fruits the earth doth bear, — 
Enough of chilly droppings for her bowl; 
Enough of fear and shadowy despair, 
To frame her cloudy prison for the soul ! 



AUTUMN. 

I. 

The Autumn skies are flush'd with gold, 
And fair and bright the rivers run; 
These are but streams of winter cold. 
And painted mists that quench the sun. 

II. 
In secret boughs no sweet birds sing, 
In secret boughs no bii-d can shroud ; 
These are but leaves that take to wing, 
And wintry winds that pipe so loud. 

in. 
'Tis not trees' shade, but cloudy glooms 
That oil the cheerless valleys fall, 
The flowers are in tlieir grassy tombs, 
And tears of dew are on them all. 



yOO SONG. 



AUTUIVm. 



The Autumn is old, 
The sere leaves are flying ;— 
He hath gathered up gold, 
And now he is dying ; — 
Old age, begin sighing ! 

The vintage is ripe, 
The harvest is heaping ; — 
But some that have soVd 
Have no riches for reaping ; — 
Poor wretch, fall a weeping I 

The year's in the wane, 
There is nothing adorning. 
The night has no eve. 
And the day has no morning ;- 
Cold winter gives warning. 

The rivers run chill, 
The red sun is sinking, 
And I am grown old, 
And life is fast shrinking ; — 
Here's enow for sad thinking ! 



SONG. 

FOR MUSIC. 
I. 

A LAKE and a fairy boat 

To sail in the moonlight clear,— 

And merrily we would float 

From the dragons that watch us here ; 



201 



II. 
Thy gown should be snow-white silk, 
And strings of orient pearls, 
Like gossamers dipp'd in milk. 
Should twine with thy raven curls ! 

III. 
Red rubies should deck thy hands, 
And diamonds should be thy dow'r — 
But Fairies have broke their wands, 
And wishing has lost its pow'r ! 



SONG. 

I. 

The stars are with the voyager 

Wherever he may sail ; 
The moon is constant to her time ; 

The sun will never fail ; 
But follow, follow round the world, 

The green earth and the sea; 
So love is with the lover's heart, 

Wherever he may be. 

II. 

Wherever he may be, the stars 

ISIust daily lose their light ; 
The moon will veil her in the shade ; 

The sun will set at night. 
The sun may set, but constant love 

Will shine when he's away ; 
So that dull night is never night. 

And day is brighter day. 



202 HYMN TO THE SUN. 



HYMN TO THE SUN. 



Giver of glowlno; light ! 
Though but a god of other days, 

The kings and sages 

Of wiser ages 
Still live and gladden in thy genial rays. 



King of the tuneful lyre. 
Still poets' hymns to thee belong ; 

Though lips are cold 

Whereon of old 
Thy beams all turn'd to worshipping and song ! 



Lord of the dreadful bow, 
None triumph now for Python's death ; 

But thou dost save 

From hungry grave 
The life that hangs upon a summer breath. 

IV. 

Father of rosy day, 
No more thy clouds of incense rise ; 
But waking flow'rs 
At morning hours, 
Give out their sweets to meet thee in the skies. 

V. 

God of the Delphic fane, 
No more thou listenest to hymns sublime ; 

But they will leave 

On winds at eve, 
A solemn echo to the end of time. 



TO A COLD BEAUTY. '203 



TO A COLD BEAUTY. 

I. 
IjADY, wouldst tliou heiress be 

To Winter's cold and cruel part? 
When he sets the rivers free, 

Thou dost still lock np thy heart ; — 
Thou that shouldst outlast the sr.ow, 
But in the -wliiteness of thy bi'ow ? 

II. 
Scorn and cold neglect are made 

For winter gloom and winter wind, 
But thou wilt wrong the summer air, 

Breathing it to words unkind, — 
Breath which only should belong 
To love, to sunlight, and to song ! 

III. 

When the little buds unclose, 

Red, and white, and pied, and blue, 

And that virgin flow'r, the rose, 
Opes her heart to hold the dew, 

Wilt thou lock thy bosom up 

With no jeAvel in its cup ? 

IV. 

Let not cold December sit 

Thus in Love's peculiar throne ; — 
Brooklets are not prison'd now, 

But crystal frosts are all agone. 
And that which hangs upon the spray. 
It is no snow, but flower of May ! 



y<)4 THE SEA OF DEATH. 



RUTH. 

She stood breast high amid the corn, 
Clasp'd by the golden light of morn, 
Like the sweetheart of the sun, 
Who many a glowing kiss had won. 

On her cheek an autumn flush, 
Deeply ripen'd ; — such a blush 
In the midst of brown was born, 
Like red poppies grown with corn. 

Round her eyes her tresses fell, 
Which were blackest none could tell, 
But long lashes veil'd a light, 
That had else been all too bright. 

And her hat, with shady brim. 
Made her tressy forehead dim ; — 
Thus she stood amid the stooks. 
Praising God with sweetest looks : — 

Sure, I said, heav'n did not mean, 
Where I reap thou shouldst but glean, 
Lay thy sheaf adown and come, 
Share my harvest and my home. 



THE SEA OF DEATH. 



A FRAGMENT. 



Methouofht I saw 



Life swiftly treading over endless space ; 
And, at her foot-print, but a bygone pace, 



THE SEA OF DEATH. VOiJ 

The ocean-past, wliicli, with increasing wave, 
Swallow'd her steps like a pursuing grave. 

Sad were my thoughts that anchor'd silently 
On the dead waters of that passionless sea, 
Unstirr'd by any touch of living breath: 
Silence hung over it, and drowsy Death, 
Like a gorged sea-bird, slept with folded wings 
On crowded carcasses — sad passive things 
That wore the thin gray surface, like a veil 
Over the calmness of their features pale. 

And there were spring-faced cherubs that did sleep • 

Like water-lilies on that motionless deep, 

How beautiful ! with bright unruffled hair 

On sleek unfretted brows, and eyes that were 

Bui-ied in marble tombs, a pale eclipse ! 

And smile-bedimpled cheeks, and pleasant lips, 

Meekly apart, as if the soul intense 

Spake out in dreams of its own innocence : 

And so they lay in loveliness, and kept 

The birth-night of their peace, that Life e'en wept 

With very envy of their happy fronts; 

For there were neighbour brows scarr'd by the 

brunts 
Of strife and sorroAving — where Care had set 
His crooked autograph, and marr'd the jet 
Of glossy locks, with hollow eyes forlorn, 
And lips that curl'd in bitterness and scorn — 
Wretched, — as they had breathed of this world's 

pain, 
And so bequeath'd it to the world again 
Through the beholder's heart in heavy sighs. 
So lay they garmented in torpid light, 
Under the pall of a transparent ni^rht, 
Like solemn apparitions lull'd sublime 
To everlasting rest, — and with them Time 
Slept, as he sleeps upon the silent face 
Of a dark dial in a sunless place. 



2)6 I EEMEMBEK, I EEMEMBER. 



I REMEMBER, I REMEMBER. 

I REMEMBER, I remember, 
The house where I was born, 
The little window where the sun 
Came peeping in at morn ; 
He never came a wink too soon, 
Nor brought too long a day, 
But now, I often wish the night 
Had borne my breath away ! 

I remember, I remember. 
The roses, red and white. 
The vi'lets, and the lily-cups. 
Those flowers made of light! 
The lilacs where the robin built, 
And where my brother set 
The laburnum on his birthday, — 
The tree is living yet ! 

I remember, I remember 

Where I was used to swing. 

And thought the air must rush as fresh 

To swallows on the wing ; 

My spirit flew in feathers then. 

That is so heavy now, 

And summer pools could hardly cool 

The fever on my brow ! 

I remember, I remember 

The fir trees dark and high ; 

I used to think their slender tops 

Were close against the sky : 

It was a childish ignorance. 

But now 'tis little joy 

To know I'm farther off" from heay'n 

Than when I was a boy. 



THE WATER LADY. 207 



THE WATER LADY. 

I. 

Alas, the moon sliouUl ever beam 
To show what man should never see l- 
I saw a maiden on a stream, 
And fair was she 1 

II. 
1 stayed awhile, to see her throw 
Her"^tresses back, that all beset 
The fair horizon of her brow 
With clouds of jet. 

III. 
I stayed a little while to view 
Her cheek, that wore in place of red 
The bloom of water, tender blue, 
Daintily spread. 

IV. 

I stayed to watch, a little space, 
Her parted lips if she would sing ; 
The waters closed above her face 
With many a ring. 

V. 

And still I stayed a little more, 
Alas ! she never comes again ! 
I throw my flowers from the shore, 
And watch in vain. 



VI. 

I knoAv my life will fade away, 
I know thai I must vaiidy pint'-, 
For I am made of mortal clay, 
But she's divine ! 



208 TO AN ABSENTEE. 



THE EXILE. 



The swallow with summer 

Will wing o'er the seaa, 
The wind that I sigh to 

Will visit thy trees, 
The ship that it hastens 

Thy ports will contain, 
But me^I must never 

See England again ! 

There's many that weep theie. 

But one weeps alone, 
For the tears that are falling 

So far from her own ; 
So far from thy own, love, 

We know not our pain ; 
If death is between us. 

Or only the main. 

When the white cloud reclines 

On the verge of the sea, 
I fancy the white cliffs, 

And dream upon thee ; 
But the cloud spreads its wings 

To the blue heav'n and flies. 
We never shall meet, love, 

Except in the skies I 



TO AN ABSENTEE. 

O'er hill, and dale, and distant sea, 
Through all the miles that stretch between. 
My thought must fly to rest on thee, 
And would, though worlds should inter-vcrte. 



ODE TO THE MOOX. 209 

Nay, thou art now so dear, methinks 
The farther we are forced apart, 
Affection's firm elastic links 
But bind the closer round the heart. 

For now we sever each from each, 
I learn what I have lost in thee ; 
Alas, that nothing less could teach, 
How great indeed my love should be 1 

Farewell ! I did not know thy worth, 
But thou art gone, and now 'tis prized : 
So angels walk'd unknown on earth, 
But when they flew were recognized ! 



ODE TO THE MOON. 



Mother of light ! how fairly dost thou go 
Over those hoary crests, divinely led ! — 
Art thou that huntress of the silver bow 
Fabled of old ? Or rather dost thou tread 
Those cloudy summits thence to gaze below. 
Like the wild Chamois from her Alpine snow, 
Where hunter never climb'd, — secure from dread '/ 
How many antique fancies have I read 
Of that mild presence ! and how many wrought ! 

Wondrous and bright. 

Upon the silver light. 
Chasing fair figures with the artist. Thought ! 

II. 

What art thou like V — Sometimes I see thee ride 
A far-bouud galley on its perilous way, 
Whilst bi-cezy waves toss up their silvery spray; — 
Sometimes beliold thee glide, 
VOL.. I. 14 



210 ODE TO THE MOON. 

Clustered by all thy family of stars, 

Like a lone widow, throug:li the welkin wide. 

Whose pallid cheek the midnight sorrow mars ; 

Sometimes I watch thee on from steep to steep, 

Timidly lighted by thy vestal torch, 

Till in some Latmian cave I see thee creep, 

To catch the young Endymion asleep, — 

Leaving thy splendour at the jagged porch !• — 

III. 

Oh, thou art beautiful, howe'er It be ! 
Huntress, or Dian, or whatever named ; 
And he, the veriest Pagan, that first framed 
A silver idol, and ne'er worshipp'd thee ! — 
It is too late, or thou shouldst have my knee ; 
Too late now for the old Ephesian vows. 
And not divine the crescent on thy brows ! — 
Yet, call thee nothing but the mere mild Moon, 

Behind those chestnut boughs, 
Casting their dappled shadows at my feet ; 
I will be grateful for that simple boon, 
In many a thoughtful verse and anthem sweet, 
And bless thy d'ainty face whene'er we meet. 



In nights far gone,— ay, far away and dead, — 
Before Care-fretted with a lidless eye,— - 
I was thy wooer on my little bed. 
Letting the early hours of rest go by. 
To see thee flood the heaven with milky light, 
And feed thy snow-white swans, before I slept ; 
For thou wert then purveyor of my dreams, — 
T'hou wert flie fairies' armourer, that kept 
Their burnish'd helms, and crowns, and corseleta 
bright, 

Their spears, and glittering mails ; 
And ever thou didst spill in winding streams 

Sparkles and midnight gleams. 
For fishes to new gloss their argent scales ! — 



ODE TO THE MOON 211 



VYtiy sighs ? — why creeping tears ? — whj clasped 

hands ? — 
Is it to count the boy's expended dow'r ? 
That fairies since have broke their fitted wands ? 
That youno; Delight, like any o'erblown flow'r, 
Gave, one by one, its sweet leaves to the ground ? — 
AVhy then, fair Moon, for all thou mark'st no hour. 
Thou art a sadder dial to old Time 

Than ever I have found 
On sunny garden-plot, or moss-grown tow'r, 
Motto'd with stern and melancholy rhyme. 

VI. 

Why should I grieve for this ? — Oh I must yearn, 

AVhilst Time, conspirator with Memory, 

Keeps his cold ashes in an ancient urn, 

Richly emboss'd with childhoo;]'s revelry, 

With leaves and «duster'd fruits, and flow'rs eterne,— 

(Eternal to the world, though not to me,) 

A}'e there will those brave sports and l)lossoms be, 

The deathless wreath, and undecay'd festoon, 

When I am hearsed Avithin, — 
Less than the pallid primrose to the Moon, 
That now she watches through a vapour thin. 



So let it be : — Before I lived to sigh, 
Thou wert in Avon, and a thousand rills, 
Beautiful Orb ! and so, whene'er I lie 
Trodden, thou wilt be gazing from thy hdls. 
Blest be thy loving light, wliere'er it spills. 
And blessed thy fair face, O ^Mother mild ! 
Still shine, the soul of rivers as they run. 
Still lend tiiy lonely lamp to lovei's fonci, 
And blend their plighted sliadows into one :- 
Still smile at even on the bedded child, 
And close his evelids with thy silver wand ! 



212 ODE TO MELANCHOLY. 



THE FORSAKEN. 

The dead are in their silent graves, 
And the dew is cold above, 
And the living weep and sigh, 
Over dust that once was love. 

Once I only wept the dead, 

But now the living cause my pain : 

How couldst thou steal me from my tears. 

To leave me to my tears again ? 

My Mother rests beneath the sod, — 
Her rest is calm and very deep : 
I wish'd that she could see our loves, — 
But now I gladden in her sleep. 

Last night unbound my raven locks, 
The morning saw them turn'd to gray, 
Once they were black and well beloved, 
But thou art changed, — and so are they I 

The useless lock I gave thee once. 

To gaze upon and think of me. 

Was ta'en with smiles, — but this was torn 

In sorrow that I send to thee. 



ODE TO MELANCHOLY. 

Come, let us set our careful breasts, 
]jike Philomel, against the thorn, 
To aggravate the inward grief, 
That makes her accents so forlorn ; 
The world has many cruel points, 



ODE TO MELANCHOLY. 213 

Whereby our bosoms have been torn, 
And there are dainty themes of grief, 
In sadness to outlast the morn, — 
True honour's dearth, affection's death, 
Neglectful pride, and cankering scorn, 
AVith all the piteous tales that ^ears 
Have water'd since the world was born. 

The world ! — it is a wilderness, 
Where tears are hung on every tree ; 
For thus my gloomy phantasy 
Makes all things weep with me 1 
Come let us sit and watch the sky, 
And fancy clouds, where no clouds be ; 
Grief is enough to blot the eye. 
And make hea\'n black with misery. 
Why should birds sing such merry notes, 
Unless they were more blest than we V 
No sorrow ever chokes their throats, 
Except sweet. nightingale ; for she 
Was born to pain our hearts the more 
With her sad melody. 
AVhy shines the sun, except that he 
Makes gloomy nooks for Grief to hide, 
And pensive shades for Melancholy, 
When all the earth is bright beside ? 
Let clay wear smiles, and green grass wave. 
Mirth shall not win us back again, 
"Whilst man is made of his own grave, 
And fairest clouds but gilded rain ! 

I saw my mother in her shroud, 
Her cheek was cold and very pale ; 
And ever since I 've look'd on all 
As creatures doom'd to fail ! ) 
W^hy do buds ope, except to die ? 
Ay, let us watch the roses wither, 
And think of our loves' cheeks ; 
And oh, how quickly time doth fly 



214 ODE TO MELANCHOLY. 

To bring death's winter liitlier ! 
Minutes, hours, days, and weeks. 
Months, years, and ages, shrink to nought ; 
An age past is but a thought ! 

Ay, let us think of Him a while, 
That, with a coffin for a boat. 
Rows daily o'er the Stygian moat, 
And for our table choose a tomb : 
There's dark enough in any skull 
To charge with black a raven plume ; 
And for the saddest funeral thoughts 
A winding sheet hath ample room. 
Where Death, with his keen-pointed style, 
Hath writ the common doom. 
How wide the yew-tree spreads its gloom, 
And o'er the dead lets fall its dew, 
As if in tears it wept for them, 
The many human families 
That sleep around its stem ! 
How cold the dead have made these stones. 
With natural drops kept ever wet ! 
Lo ! here the best, the worst, the world 
Doth now remember or forget. 
Are in one common ruin hurl'd. 
And love and hate are calmly met ; 
The loveHest eyes that ever shone, 
The fairest hands, and locks of jet. 
Is't not enough to vex our souls. 
And fill our eyes, that we have set 
Our love upon a rose's leaf. 
Our hearts upon a violet ? 
Blue eyes, red cheeks, are frailer yet ; 
And, sometimes, at their swift decay 
Beforehand we must fret : 
I The roses bud and bloom again ; 
But love may haunt the grave of love, 
And watch the mould in vain. } 



ODE TO MELANCIIOI.Y. 215 



r. 



O clasp me, sweet, whilst thou art mine, 

And do not take my tears amiss ; 

For tears must tlow to wash away 

A thought that shows so stern as this • 

Forgive, if some while I forget, 

In woe to come, the present bliss. 

As frighted Proser|)ine let fall 

Her flowers at the sight of Dis, 

Ev'n so the dark and bright will kiss. 

The sunniest things throw sternest shade, 

And there is ev'n a hai)piness 

That makes the heart afraid ! ) 

Now let us with a spell invoke 

The full orb'd moon to grieve our eyes ; 

Not bright, not bright, but, with a cloud 

Lapp'd all about her, let her rise 

All pale and dim, as if from rest 

The ghost of the late buried sun 

Had crept into the skies. 

The Moon ! she is the source of sighs, 

The very face to make us sad ; 

If but to think in other times 

The same calm quiet look she had, 

As if the world held nothing base. 

Of vile and mean, of Herce and bad ; 

The same tair light that shone in streams, 

The fairy lamp that charm'd the lad ; 

For so it is, with spent delights 

She taunts men's brains, and makes them mad. 

All things are touched with Melancholy, 

Born of the secret soul's mistrust, 

To feel her fair ethereal wings 

AVeighed down with vile degraded dust; 

Even the bright extremes of joy 

Bring on conclusions of disgust, 

Like the sweet blossoms of the May, 

Whose fragrance ends in nmst. 

O give her, then, her tribute just, 



216 ON A NATIVE SINGER. 

Her sighs and tears, and musings holy ! 
There is no music in the hfe 
That sounds with idiot laughter solely ; 
There's not a string attuned to mirth, 
But has its chord in Melancholy. 



ON A NATIVE SINGER 

AFTER HEARING MISS ADELAIDE KEMBLB. 

As sweet as the bird that by calm Bendemeer, 
Pours such rich modulations of tone — 

As potent, as tender, as brilliant, as clear — 
Stili her voice has a charm of its own. 

For lo ! like the skylark, when after its song 
It drops down to its nest from above. 

She reminds us her home and her music belong 
To the very same soil that we love. 



GUIDO AND MARINA. 217 



GUIDO AND MARINA. 



A DRAMATIC SKETCH. 

IGuido, having given himself up to the pernicious study of 
magic and astrology, casts h s nativity, and resolves tliat at a 
certain liourof a certain day lie is to die. Marina, to wean liira 
from this fatal delusion, which hath gradually wasted him away, 
even to the verge of death, advances tlie hour-hand of the clock, 
He is supposed to be seated beside her in the .arden of his palaco 
at Venice.] 

Guido. Clasp me again ! My soul is very sad; 
And hold thy lips in readiness near mine, 
Lest I die suddenly. Clasp me again ! 
Tis such a gloomy day ! 

Mar. Nay, sweet, it shines. 

Guido. Nay, then, these mortal clouds are in 
mine eyes. 
Clasp me again ! — ay, with thy fondest force, 
Give me one last embrace. 

Mar. Love, I do clasp thee ! 

Guido. Then closer — closer — for I feel thee 
not; 
Unless thou art this pain around my heart. 
Thy lips at such a time should never leave me. 

Mar. What pain — what time, love ? Art thou 
ill ? Alas ! 
I see it in thy cheek. Come, let me nurse thee. 
Here rest upon my heart. 

Guido. Stay, stay, INIarina. 

Look ! — when I raise my hand against the sun, 
Is it red with blood ? 

Mar. Alas ! my love, what wilt 

thou ? 
Thy hand is red — and so is mine — all hands 
Show thus ajrainst the sun. 



218 GUIDO AND MARINA. 

Guido. All living men's, 

Marina, but not mine. Hast never heard 
How death first seizes on the feet and hands, 
And thence goes freezing to the very heart ? 

Mar, Yea, love, I know it ; but what then ?^ 
this hand 
I hold is glowing. 

Guido. But my eyes ! — my eyes I 

Look there, Marina — there is death's own sign. 
I have seen a corpse, 
]<7en when its clay was cold, would still have 

seemed 
Ali ve, but for the eyes — such deadly eyes ! 
So dull and dim ! Marina, look in mine ! 

Mar. Ay, they are dull. No, no — not dull, but 
bright : 
I see myself within them. Now, dear love, 
Discard these horrid fears that make me weep. 

Guido. Marina, Marina — where thy image lies 
There must be brightness — or perchance they 

glance 
And glimmer like the lamp before it dies. 
Oh, do not vex my soul with hopes impossible ! 
My hours are ending. [ Clock strikes. 

Mar. Nay, they shall not ! Hark I 

The hour — four — five — hark! six! — the very time I 
And, lo ! thou art alive ! My love — dear love — 
Now cast this cruel phantasm from thy brain — ■ 
This wilful, wild delusion — cast it off ! 
The hour is come — and gone! What ! not a word I 
What, not a smile, even, that thou livest for me ! 
Come, laugh and clap thy hands as I do — come. 
Or kneel with me, and thank th' eternal God 
For this blest passover ! Still sad ! still mute ! — 
Oh, why art thou not glad, as I am glad, 
That death forbears thee ? Nay, hath all my love 
Been spent in vain, that thou art sick of life ? 

Guido. Marina, I'm no more attached to death 
Thaii Fate hath doomed me. I am his elecjt, 



GUIDO AXD MAIUNA. 219 

That even now forestalls my little llj^ht, 

And steals with cold infrinoement on my breath : 

Already he bedims my spiritual lamp, 

Not yet his due — not yet— (|uite yet, thoujjh Timo, 

Perchance, to warn me, speaks before his Avont • 

Some minutes' space my blood his still to flow — 

Some scanty breath is left me still to spend 

In very bitter sighs. 

But there's a point, true measured by my pulse, 

Beyond or short of which it may not live 

By one poor throb. Marina, it is near. 

Mar. Oh, God of heaven ! 

Gui'Io. Ay, it is very near. 

Thereibre, cling now to me, and say farewell 
Whilst I can answer it. jNIarina, speak ! 
"Why tear thine helpless hair ! it will not save 
Thy heart from breaking, nor pluck out the 

thought 
That stings thy brain. Oh, surely thou hast known 
This truth too long to look so like Despair ! 

Mar. O, no, no, no — a hope — a little hope — 
I had erewhile — but I have heard its knell. 
Oh, would my life were measured out with thine— 
All my years numbered — all' my days, my hours. 
My utmost minutes, all summed up witli thine ! 

Guido. Marina — 

Mar. Let me weep — no, let me kneel 

To God — but rather thee, — to spare this end 
That is so wilful. Oh, for pity's sake ! 
Pluck back thy precious spirit tVom these clouds 
That smother it with death. Oh ! turn from death, 
And do not woo it with such dark resolve, 
To make me widowed. — 

Guido. I have lived my term. 

Mar. No — not thy term — no, not the natural 
term 
Of one so young. Oh ! thou hast spent thy year? 
In sinful waste upon unholy — 

Guido. llisli ! 

Marina. 



220 GUIDO AND MARINA. 

]\lar. Nay, I must. Oli ! cursed lore, 
Tliat hath supplied this spell against thy life. 
Unholy learning — devilish and dark — 
Study ! — O, God, O, God ! — how can thy stars 
Be bright with such black knowledge ! Oh, that 

men 
Should ask more light of them, than guides their 

steps 
At evening to love ! 

Guido. Hush, hush, oh, hush ! 

Tliy words have pained me in the midst of pain, 
True, if I had not read, — I should not die, 
For, if I had not read, I had not been. 
All of our acts of Hfe are pre-ordained. 
And each pre-acted, in our several spheres. 
By ghostly duplicates. They sway our deeds 
By their performance. What if mine hath been 
To be a prophet and foreknow my doom ? 
If I had closed my eyes, the thunder then 
Had roared it in my ears ; my own mute brain 
Had told it with a tongue. What must be, must. 
Therefore I knew when my full time would fall — 
And now — to save thy widowhood of tears — 
To spare the very breaking of thy heart, 
I may not gain even a brief hour's reprieve I 
What see'st thou yonder ? 

Mar. Where ? — a tree — the sun 

Sinking behind a tree. 

Guido. It is no tree, 

Marina, but a shape — the awful shape 
That comes to claim me. Seest thou not his 

shade 
Darken before his steps ? Ah, me ! how cold 
It comes against my feet ! — Cold, icy cold I 
And blacker than a pall. 

Ma7\ My love ! 

Guido. Oh, heaven 

And earth, where are ye ? Marina — 

\_Guido dies. 



ANSWER. 5j21 

Mar. I am here ! 

What w'lt thou ? dost thou speak ! — Methought I 

hiard thee 

Just whispering — He is dead ! — Oh, God ! he's 

dead 1 



ANSWER 



rO A LADY WHO REQUESTED THE AUTHOR TO WRITE 
SOME VERSES i:X HETv ALBUM DECLARATORY OF WILVT 
HE LIKED AND WHAT HE DISLIKED. 



You bid me mention what I like, 
And, gaily smiling, little guess 

How deeply may that question strike 
The chords of solemn thankfulness. 

I like my friends, my children, wife — 
The, home they make so blessed a spot; 

I like my fortune — calling — life — 
In every thing I like my lot ; 

And feeling thus, my heart's imbued 

With never-ceasing gratitude. 

What I dislike, you next demand. 

A puzzling query — for in me 
Nought that proceeds from Nature's hand 

Awakens an antipathy. 
But what I like the least are those 

Who nourish an unthankful mind, 
Quick to discern imagined woes, 

To all their real blessings blind, 
For that is double want of love, 
To man below, and God above. 



222 SONNETS. 



TO THE OCEAN. 

Shall I rebuke thee, Ocean, my old love, 
That once, in rage with the wild winds at strife 
Thou darest menace my unit of a life. 
Sending my clay below, my soul above, 
Whilst roar'd thy waves, like lions when they rove 
By night and bound upon their prey by stealth ? 
Yet didst thou ne'er restore my fainting health ?— 
Didst thou ne'er murmur gently like the dove ? 
Nay, didst thou not against my own dear shore 
Full break, last link between my land and me ? — 
My absent friends talk in thy very roar, 
In thy waves' beat their kindly pulse I see, 
And, if I must not see my England more, 
Next to her soil, my grave be found in thee ! 
CoBLENTZ, May, 1835. 



n. 

LEAR. 

A POOR old king, with sorrow for my crown, 
Throned upon straw, and mantled with the wind- 
For pity, my own tears have made me blind 
That I might never see my children's frown ; 
And may be madness, like a friend, has thrown 
A folded fillet over my dark mind, 
So that unkindly speech may sound for kind, — 
Albeit I know not. — I am childish grown — 
And have not gold to purchase wit withal — 
I that have once maintain'd most royal state — 



soxxBTs. 2:.^ 

A very bankrupt now that may not call 
My child, my child — all-be<iirar'd save in (cajs, 
VVhereAvith I daily weep an old man's faro, 
Foolish — and blind — and overcome with years; ! 



SONNET TO A SONNET. 

Rare composition of a poet-knijrht, 
Most chivalrous amonfrst chivalric men, 
Distinguish'd for a polish'd lance and pen 
In tuneful contest and in tonrney-fitrht ; 
Lustrous in scholarship, in honour briorht, 
AccompHsh'd in all ura'-es current then, 
Humane as any in historic ken. 
Brave, handsome, noble, affable, polite ; 
Most courteous to that race become of late 
So fiercely scornful of all kind advance, 
Rude, bitter, coarse, implacable in hate 
To Albion, plotting ever her mischance, — 
Alas, fair verse ! how false and out of date 
Thy phrase " sweet enemy" applied to France 



FALSE POKTS AND TRUE. 

Look how the lark soars upward and is gone, 
Turning a spirit as he nears the sky ! 
His voice is heard, but body there is none 
To fix the vague excursions of the eye. 
So, poets' songs are with us, tho' they die 



224 SON'XETS. 

Obsi-ured, and hid by death's oblivious shroud, 

And earth inherits the rich melody, 

Like raining music from the morning cloud. 

Yet, few there be who pipe so sweet and loud, 

Their voices reach us through the lapse of space ; 

The noisy day is deafen'd by a crowd 

Of undistinguish'd birds, a twittering race ; 

But only lark and nightingale forlorn 

Fill up the silences of night and morn. 



TO 



My heart is sick with longing, tho' I feed 
On hope ; Time goes with such a heavy pace 
That neither brings nor takes from thy embrace, 
As if he slept — ^forgetting his old speed : 
For, as in sunshine only we can read 
The march of minutes on the dial's face, 
So in the shadows of this lonely place 
There is no love, and Time is dead indeed. 
But when, dear lady, I am near thy heart. 
Thy smile is time, and then so swift it flies, 
It seems we only meet to tear apart 
With aching hands and lingering of eyes. 
Alas, alas ! that we must learn hours' flight 
By the same light of love that makes them bright 
O"' ' ^ 



80XNET8. 225 

VI. 

FOR THE 14TH OF FEBRUARY. 

No popular respect will I omit 
To do thee honour on this happy day, 
When every loyal lover tasks his wit 
His simple truth in studious rhymes to pay, 
And to his mistress dear his hopes convey. 
Rather thou knowest I would still outrun 
All calendars with Love's, — whose date alway 
Tiiy bright eyes govern better than the Sun,— 
For with thy favour was my life begun ; 
And still I reckon on from smiles to smiles, 
And not by summers, for I thrive on none 
But those thy cheerful countenance compiles : 
Oh ! if it be to choose and call thee mine, 
Love, thou art every day my. Valentine. 



VII. 

TO A SLEEPING CHILD. 

I. 

Oh, 'tis a touching thing to make one weep, — 
A tender infant with its curtain'd eye. 
Breathing as it would neither live nor .lie 
With that unchanging countenance of sleep ! 
As if its silent dream*!^ serene and deep, 
Had lined its slumber with a still blue sky, 
So that the passive cheeks unconscious lie 
With no more life than roses— just to keep 
The blushes warm, and the mild, odorous breath. 
O blossom boy ! so calm is thy repose, 

VOh. I. 1^ 



226 SONNETS. 

So sweet a compromise of life and death, 
'Tis pity those fair buds should e'er unclose 
For memory to stain their inward leaf, 
Tinging thy dreams with unacquainted grief. 



VIII. 
TO A SLEEPING CHILD. 

II. 

Thixe eyelids slept so beauteously, I deem'd 

No eyes could wake so beautiful as they : 

Thy rosy cheeks in such still slumbers lay, 

I loved their peacefulness, nor ever dream'd 

Of dimples ; — for those parted lips so seem'd, 

I never thought a smile could sweetlier play, 

Nor that so graceful life could chase away 

Thy graceful death, — till those blue eyes upbeam'd 

Now slumber hes in dimpled eddies drown'd, 

And roses bloom more rosily for joy, 

And odorous silence ripens into sound, 

And fingers move to sound, — All-beauteous boy 1 

How thou dost waken into smiles, and prove. 

If not more lovely, thou art more like Love ! 



IX. 

The World is with me, and its many cares. 

Its woes — its wants — the anxious hopes and foars 

That wait on all terrestrial affairs — 

The shades of former and of future years — 

Forel)oding fancies, and prophetic tears, 

Quelling a spirit that was once elate. 



SOXNETS. 227 

Heavens! what a wilderness the world appears, 
Where Youth, and Mirth, and Health are out of 

date ; 
But no — a laugh of innocence and joy 
Resounds, like music of the fairy race, 
And, gladly turning from the world's annoy, 
I gaze upon a little radiant face, 
And bless, internally, the merry boy 
Who " makes a son-shine in a shady place." 



WRITTEN IN .A VOLUME OF SHAKSPEARE. 

How bravely Autumn paints upon the sky 
The gorgeous fame of Summer which is fled ! 
Hues of all flow'rs that in their ashes lie, 
Trophied in that fair hght whereon they fed. 
Tulip, and hyacinth, and sweet rose red, — 
Like exhalations from the leafy mould, 
Look here how honour glorifies the dead, 
And warms their scutcheons with a glance of 

^ gold !— 
Such is the memory of poets old, 
Who on Parnassus' hill have bloom'd elate ; 
Now they are laid under their marbles cold, 
And turn'd to clay, whereof they were create ; 
But God Apollo hath them all enroU'd, 
And blazon'd on the very clouds of fate ! 



II. 

TO FANCY. 

Most delicate Arid ! submissive thing, 
Won b) the mind's Ligh magic to its best,- 



228 SONNETS. 

Invisible embassy, or secret guest, — 
Weighing the light air on a lighter wing; — 
Whether into the midnight moon, to bring 
Illuminate visions to the eye of rest, — 
Or rich romances from the florid West, — 
Or to the sea, for mystic whispering, — 
Still by thy charm'd allegiance to the will, 
The fruitful wishes prosper in the brain, 
As by the fingering of fairy skill,— 
Moonlight, and waters, and soft music's strain, 
Odours, and blooms, and my Miranda's smile, 
Making this dull world an enchanted isle. 



III. 

TO AN ENTHUSIAST. 

Young ardent soul, graced with fair Nature's 

truth, 
Spring warmth of heart, and fervency of mind. 
And still a large late love of all thy kind, 
Spite of the world's cold practice and Time's tooth, 
For all these gifts, I know not, in fair sooth, 
Whether to give thee joy, or bid thee bUnd 
Thine eyes with tears, — that thou hast not resigned 
The passionate fire and freshness of thy youth ; 
For as the current of thy life shall flow, 
Gilded by shine of sun or shadow-stain'd. 
Through flow'ry valley or unwholesome fen, 
Thrice blessed in thy joy, or in thy woe 
Thrice cursed of thy race, — thou art ordain'd 
To share beyond the lot of common men. 



SONNETS. 229 



IV. 



Tt is not death, that sometime in a sij^h 

This eloquent breath shall take its speechless 

flinrht; 
That sometime these brijrht stars, that now reply 
In sunlitrht to the sun, shall set in night ; 
That this warm conscious flesh shall perish quite, 
And all life's ruddy springs forget to flow ; 
That thoughts shall cease, and the immortal spright 
Be lapp'd in alien clay and laid below ; 
It is not death to know this, — but to know 
That pious thoughts, which visit at new graves 
In tender pilgrimage, will cease to go 
So duly and so oft, — and Avheu grass waves 
Over the past-away, there may be then 
No resurrection in the minds of men. 



By ev'ry sweet tradition of true hearts, 

Graven by Time, in love with his own lore ; 

By all old martyrdoms and antique smarts, 

Wherein I^ove died to be alive the more ; 

Yea, by the sad impression on the shore, 

Left by the drown'd Leandcr, to endear 

That coast forever, where the billow's roar 

Moaneth for pity in the Poet's ear ; 

By Hero's faith, and the foreboding tear 

That ([uench'd her brand's last twinkle in its fall; 

Hy Sappho's leap, and the low rustling fear 

That sigh'd around her flight; I swear by all, 

The world shall find such pattern in my act. 

As if Love's great examples still were lack'd 



230 SONNETS. 



VI. 

ON RECEIVING A ^IFT. 

Look how the golden ocean shines above 

Its pebbly stones, and magnifies their girth ; 

80 does the bright and blessed light of love 

Jts own things glorify, and raise their worth. 

As weeds seem flowers beneath the flattering brine, 

And stones like gems, and gems as gems indeed, 

Ev'n so our tokens shine ; nay, they outshine 

Pebbles and pearls, and gems and coral weed ; 

For where be ocean waves but half so clear, 

So calmly constant, and so kindly warm, 

As Love's most mild and glowing atmosphere, 

That hath no dregs to be upturn'd by storm ? 

Thus, sweet, thy gracious gifts are gifts of price. 

And more than gold to doting Avarice. 



VII. 

SILENCE. 

There is a silence where hath been no sound, 
There is a silence where no sound may be, 
In the cold grave — under the deep deep sea, 
Or in wide desert where no life is found. 
Which hath been mute, and still must sleep pro* 

found ; 
No voice is hush'd — no life treads silently, 
But clouds and cloudy shadows wander free. 
That never spoke, over the idle ground : 
Rut in green ruins, in the desolate walls 
Of antique palaces, where Man hath been. 



SONNE IS. 231 

Though the dun fox, or wild hyaena, calls, 
And owls, that flit continually between, 
Shriek to the echo, and the low winds moan, 
There the true Silence is, sell-conscious and alone. 



VIII. 

The curse of Adam, the old curse of all 
Though I inherit in this feverish life 
Of worldly toil, vain wishes, and hard strife. 
And fruitless thought, in Care's eternal thrall, 
Yet more sweet honey than of bitter gall 
I taste, through thee, my Eva, my sweet wife. 
Then what was Man's lost Paradise I — how rife 
Of bliss, since love is with him in his iall 1' 
Sufh as our own pure passion still might frame. 
Of this fair earth, and its delightful bow'rs, 
If no fell sorrow, like the serpent, came 
To trail its venom o'er the sweet'st flow'rs : — 
But oh ! as many and such tears are ours, 
As only should be shed for guilt and shame ! 



IX. 

Love, dearest Lady, such as I would speak, 
Lives not within the humour of the eye; — 
Not being but an outward phantas}', 
That skims the surface of a tinted cheek — 
Else it would wane with beauty, and grow weak. 
As if the rose mule suunner, — and so lie 
Amongst the perishable things that die. 
Unlike the love which I would give and seek 
Whose health is of no hue — to feel decay 



232 MISS KILMANSEGG 



With clieeks' decay, that have a rosy prime, 
fLove is its own great loveliness alway, 
And takes new lustre from the tou<3h of time; ^ 
Its bongh owns no December and no May, 
But bears its blossom into Winter's clime. 



MISS KILMANSEGG AND HER PRECIOUS 
LEG. 

A GOLDEN LEGEND. 



"What is here? 
Gold? yellow, glittering, precious gold? " 

TiMON OP Athens 



JMev 3Petiijjree. 

To trace the Kilmansegg pedigree, 
To the very roots of the family tree, 

Were a task as rash as ridiculous: 
Through antediluvian mists as thick 
As London fog such a line to pick 
Were enough, in truth, to puzzle Old Nick, 

Not to name Sir Harris Nicholas. 

It wouldn't require much verbal strain 
To trace the Kill-man, perchance, to Cain ; 

But waving all such digressions. 
Suffice it, according to family lore, 
A Patriarch Kilmansegg lived of yore, 

Who was famed for his great possessions. 

Tradition said he feather'd his nest 
Through an Agricultural Interest 

In the Golden Age of Farming ; 
When golden eggs were laid by the geese, 
And Colchian sheep wore a golden Heece, 



AM) ui:u t'lJKCious LEG. 2'3:i 

Alul golden pippins — the sterling kind 
Of Hesperus— now so hanf to lind — 
Made Horticulture quite charming 1 

A Lord of Land, on his own estate, 
He lived at a very lively rate, 

But his income would bear carousing ; 
Such acres he had of pasture and heatli, 
With herbage so rich from the ore beneath, 
The very ewe's and lambkin's teeth 

Were turn'd into gold by browsing. 

He gave, without any extra thrift, 
A flock of sheep for a birthday gifl 

To each son of his loins, or daughter : 
And his debts — if debts he had — at will 
He liquidated by giving each bill 

A dip in Pactolian water. 

'Twas said that even his pigs of lead, 
By crossing "witli some by Midas bred. 

Made a perfect mine of his piggery. 
And as for cattle, one yearling bull 
Was Avorth all Smithfield-market full 

Of the Golden Bulls of Pope Gregory. 

The high-bred horses within his stud. 
Like human creatures of birth and blood, 

Had their Golden Cups and tlagons: 
And as tor the common husbandry nags. 
Their noses were tied in money-bags. 

When they stopp'd with the carts and wagons. 

Moreover, he had a Golden Ass, 
Sometimes at stall, and sometimes at grass, 

That was worth his own weight in mo/iey — 
And a golden hive, on a Golden Bank, 
Where golden bees, by alchemical pr.udc, 

Gathei-'d gold instead of honey. 



234 MISS KILMANSEGG 

(xold ! and gold ! and gold without end ! 
He had gold to lay by, and gold to spend, 
Gold to give, and gold to lend. 

And reversions of gold in futuro. 
In wealth the fcimily revell'd and roll'd. 
Himself and wife and sons so bold ; — 
And his daughters sang to their harps of gold 

" O bella eta del' oro ! " 

Such was the tale of the Kilmansegg Kin, 

In golden text on a vellum skin. 

Though certain people would wink and grin, 

And declare the whole story a parable — 
That the Ancestor rich was one Jacob Ghrimes, 
Who held a long lease, in prosperous times, 

Of acres, pasture and arable. 

That as money makes money, his golden bees 
Were the Five per Cents, or which you please, 

When his cash was more than plenty — 
That the golden cups were racing affairs; 
And his daughters, who sang Italian airs, 

Had their golden harps of Clementi. 

That the Golden Ass, or Golden Bull, 
Was English John, with his pockets full. 

Then at war by land and water : 
While beef, and mutton, and other meat, 
Were almost as dear as money to eat. 
And Farmers reaped Golden Harvests of wheat 

At the Lord knows what per quarter ! 



t What different dooms our birthdays bring I 
For instance, one little manikin thing 

Survives to Avear many a wrinkle ; 
While death forbids another to wake, 
And a son that it took nine moons to make 

Expires without even a twinkle 1 



AND HKIl I'HKCKnfS I. KG. 235 

Into this world we come like ships, 

Launch'd from the docks, and stocks, and slips, 

For fortune fair or fatal ; 
And one little craft is cast away 
In its very first trip in Babbicomc Bav, 

While another rides safe at Port Natal. 

What different lots our stars accord ! 

This babe to be hail'd and woo'd as a Lord I 

And that to be slmnn'd like a leper ! 
One, to the world's wine, honey, and corn, 
Another, like Colchester native, born 

To its vinegar, only, and pe])per. 

One is litter'd under a roof 
Neither wind nor water proof, — 

That's the prose of Love in a Cottage, — 
A puny, naked, shivering wretch, 
The whole of whose birthright would not fetch, 
Though Robins himself drew up the sketch. 

The bid of " a mess of pottage." 

■ Born of Fortunatus's kin. 
Another comes tenderly usher'd in 

To a prospect all bright and burnish'd : 
No tenant he for life's back slums — 
He comes to the world as a gentleman comes 

To a lodging ready furnish'd. 

And the other sex — the tender — the fair — 
What wide reverses of fate are there ! 
Whilst Margaret, charm'd by the Bulbul rare. 

In a gai'den of Gul reposes — 
Toor Peggy hawks nosegays from street to street, 
Till — think of that, who find life so sweet! — 

She hates the smell of roses ! "= 

Not so with the infant Kilmansegg! 
She was not boi n to steal or beg. 



236 MISS KJLMANSEGa 

Or gather cresses In ditches; 
To plait tlie straw, or bind the shoe, 
Or sit all day to hem and sew, 
As females must, and not a few— - 

To fill their insides with stitches ! 

She was not doom'd, for bread to cat, 

To be put to her hands as well as her feet — 

To carry home linen from mangles — 
Or heavy-hearted, and weary limb'd, 
To dance on a rope in a jacket trimm'd * 

With as many blows as spangles. 

She was one of those who by Fortune's b'^on 
Are born, as they say, with a silver spoon 

In her mouth, not a wooden ladle : 
To speak according to poet's wont, 
Plutus as sponsor stood at her font, 

And Midas rock'd the cradle. 

At her first dehut she found her head 
On a pillow of down, in a downy bed. 

With a damask canopy over. 
For although by the vulgar popular saw 
All mothers are said to be " in the straw,' 

Some children are born in clover. 

Her very first draught of vital air 
It was not the common chamelion fa^o 
Of plebeian lungs and noses, — 
No — her earliest sniff 
Of this world was a whiff 
Of the genuine Otto of Roses! 

When she saw the light — it was no me -^e ray 
Of that light so common — so every day — 

That the sun each morning launches — 
But six wax tapers dazzled her eyes, 
From a thing — a gooseberry bush for size — 

With a golden stem and branches. 



AND IIEK rilECIOUS LKG. 2'37 

She was born exactly at half-past two, 
As witnessM a tlme-])Iece in or-molu 

That stood on a marble table — 
Sliowing at once the time of day, 
And a team of Gildings running away 

As fast as they were able, 
With a golden God, with a golden Star, 
And a golden Spear, in a golden Car, 

According to Grecian fable. 

Like other b:ibes, at her birth she cried; 
Which made a sensation far and wide, 

Ay, for twenty miles around her ; 
For though to the ear 'twas nothing more 
Than an infant's squall, it was really the 
roar 
Of a Fifty-thousand Pounder ! 
It shook the next heir 
In his library chair, 
And made him cry " Confound her 1 ** 

Of signs and omens there was no dearth, 
Any more than at Owen Glendower's birth, 
Or the advent of other great people : 
Two bullocks dropp'd dead, 
As if knock'd on the head. 
And barrels of stout 
And ale ran about, 
And the village-bells such a peal rang out, 
That they crack'd the village-steeple. 

In no time at all, hke mushroom spawn, 
Tables sprang up all over the lawn ; 
Not furnish'd scantily or shabbily, 
But on scale as vast 
As that huge repast, 
With its loads and cargoes 
Of drink and botargoes. 
At the Birth of the Babe in Rabelais. 



238 MISS KILMANSEGG 

Hundreds of men were turn'd into beasts, 
Like the guests at Circe's horrible feasts, 

By the magic of ale and cider : 
And each country lass, and each country lad, 
Began to caper and dance like mad. 
And even some old ones appear'd to have had 

A bite from the Naples Spider. 

Then as night came on, 

It had scared King John, 
Who considered such signs not risible, 

To have seen the maroons. 

And the whirling moons, 

And the serpents of flame, 

And wheels of the same. 
That according to some were " whizzable." 

Oh, happy Hope of the Kilmanseggs ! 
Thrice happy in head, and body, and legs 

That her parents had such full pockets ! 
For had she been born of Want and Thrift, 
For care and nursing all adrift. 
It's ten to one she had had to make shift 

With rickets instead of rockets ! 

And how was the precious Baby drest ? 
In a robe of the East, with lace of the West, 
Like one of Croesus's issue — 
Her best bibs were made 
Of rich gold brocade. 
And the others of silver tissue. 

And when the Baby inclined to nap 
She was luU'd on a Gros de Naples lap, 
By a nurse in a modish Paris cap. 
Of notions so exalted, 

She drank nothing lower than Cura^oa, 
Maraschino, or pink Noyau, 

And on principle never malted- 



AXD HEK PRKCIOUS LF:G. 239 

From a irolden boat, with a golden spoon, 
Tlie bane was ffd niglit, morninir, and noon; 

And altho' the tale seems fabulous, 
'Tis said her tops and bottoms were gilt, 
Like the oats in th;it Stable-yard Palace built 

For the horse of Hellogabalus. 

And when she took to squall and kick — • 
For pain will wring and pins will prick 
E'en the wealthiest nabob's daughter — 
They gave her no vulgar Dalby or gin, 
But a liquor with leaf of gold therein, 
Videlicet, — Dantzic Water. 

In short, she Avas born, and bred, and nurst, 
And drest in the best from the very first. 

To please the genteelest censor — 
And then, as soon as strength would allow. 
AVas vaccinated, as babes are now. 
With virus ta'en from the best-bred cow 

Of Lord Althorpe's — now Earl Spencer. 

?^er €i)rfsteninfl. 
Though Shakspeare asks us, " What's in 

name ? " 
(As if cognomens were much the same,) 
There's really a very gre^it scope in it. 
A name ? — why, Avasn't thei^e Doctor Dodd, 
That servant at once of Mammon and God, 
Who found four thousand pounds and odd, 
A prison — a cart — and a rope in it ? 

A name ? — if the party had a voice. 
What mortiil would be a Bugg by choice ? 
As a Hogg, a Grubb, or a Chubb rejoice V 

Or any such nauseous blazon ? 
Not to mention many a vulgar name, 
That would make a doorplate l)lush tor shame, 

If doorplates were not so brazen 1 



240 MISS KILMAXStUKt 

A name V — it has more than nominal worth, 
And belongs to good or bad luck at birth — 

As dames of a certain degree know. 
In spite of his Page's hat and hose, 
His Page's jacket, and buttons in rows, 
Bob only sounds like a page of prose 

Till turn'd mto Rupertino. 

Now to christen the infant Kilmansegg, 
For days and days it was quite a plague, 

To hunt the list in the Lexicon : 
And scores were tried, hke coin, by the ring, 
Ere names were found just the proper thing 

For a minor rich as a Mexican. 

Then cards were sent, the presence to beg 
Of all the kin of Kilmansegg, 

White, yellow, and brown relations : 
Brothers, Wardens of City Halls, 
And Uncles — rich as three Golden Balls 

From taking pledges of nations. 

Nephews, whom Fortune seem'd to bewitch, 

Rising in life like rockets — 
Nieces whose doweries knew no hitch — 
Aunts as certain of dying rich 
As candles in golden sockets — 
Cousins German, and Cousin's sons, 
All thriving and opulent — some had tons 

Of Kentish hops in their pockets ! 

For money had stuck to the race through life 
(As it did to the bushel when cash so rife 
Posed AH Baba's brother's wife) — 

And down to the Cousins and Coz-lings, 
The fortunate brood of the Kilmanseggs, 
As if they had come out of golden eggs, 

Were all as wealthy as " "Goslings." 



AND HER rUKCIOLS LEG. 21 i 

It Avould fill a Court Gazette to name 
What East and West End people came 

To the rite of Christianity: 
The lofty Lord, and the titled Dame, 

All di'monds. plumes, and urbanity : 
His Lordship the May'r with his golden chain, 
And two Gold Sticks, and the Sheriffs twain, 
Nine foreign Counts, and otiicr great men, 
With their orders and stars, fo help M or N 

To renounce all pomp and vanity. 

To paint the maternal Kilmansegg 
The pen of an Eastern Poet would beg, 

And need an elaborate sonnet; 
How she sparkled with gems Avhenever she stirr'd, 
And her head niddle-noddled at every word, 
And seem'd so happy, a Paradise Bird 

Had nidificated upon it. 

And Sir Jacob the Father strutted and bow'd, 
And smiled to himself, and laugh'd aloud. 

To think of his heiress and daughter — 
And then in his pockets he made a grope, 
And then, in the fulness of joy and hope, 
Seem'd washing his hands with invisible soap 

In imperceptible water. 

He had roll'd in money like pigs in mud. 
Till it seem'd to have enter'd mto his blood 

By some occult projection : 
And his cheeks, instead of a healthy hue. 
As yellow as any guinea grew, 
Making the common phrase seem true 

About a rich complexion 

And now came the nurse, and during a pause, 
Her dead-leaf satin would fitly cause 
A very autumnal i-ustle — 

VOL.. I. 1'! 



242 MISS KCLMANSEGG 

So full of figure, so full of fuss, 
As she carried about the babe to buss, 
She seem'd to be nothing but bustle. 

A wealthy Nabob was Godpapa, 

And an Indian Begum was Godmamma, 

AVhose jewels a Queen might covet — 
And the Priest was a Vicar, and Dean withal 
Of that Temple we see with a Golden Ball, 

And a Golden Cross above it. 

The Font was a bowl of American gold, 
Won by Raleigh in days of old, 

In spite of Spanish bravado ; 
And the Book of Pray'r was so overrun 
With gilt devices, it shone in the sun 
Like a copy — a presentation one — 

Of Humboldt's " El Dorado." 

Gold ! and gold ! and nothing but gold ! 
The same auriferous shine behold 

Wherever the eye could settle ! 
On the walls — the sideboard — the ceiling-sky — 
On the gorgeous footmen standing by, 
In coats to delight a miner's eye 

With seams of the precious metal. 

Gold ! and gold ! and besides the gold, 
The very robe of the infant told 
A tale of wealth in every fold, 

It lapp'd her like a vapour ! 
So fine ! so thin ! the mind at a loss 
Could compare it to nothing except a cross 

Of cobweb with bank-note paper. 

Then her pearls — 'twas a perfect sight forsootli, 
To see them, like " the dew of her youth," 

In such a plentiful sprinkle. 
Meanwhile, the Vicar read through the form, 



AND HER rRECIOUS LEG. 243 

And gave lier another, not overwarm, 
That made her little eyes twinkle. 

Then the babe was cross'd and bless'd amain ; 
But instead of the Kate, or Aim, or Jane, 

Which the humbler female endorses — 
Instead of one name, as some people prefix, 
Kilmansegg went at the tails of six, 

Like a carriage of state with its horses. 

Oh, then the kisses she got and hugs ! 
The golden mugs and the golden jugs 

That lent fresh rays to the midges ! 
The golden knives, and the golden spoons, 
The gems that sparkled Hke fairy boons, 
It was one of the Kilmansegg's own saloons, 

But look'd like Rundell and Bridge's ! 

Gold ! and gold ! the new and the old 1 
The company ate and drank from gold, 

They revell'd, they sang, and were merry ; 
And one of the Gold Sticks rose from his chair, 
And toasted " the Lass with the golden hair " 

In a bumper of golden Sherry. 

Gold ! still gold ! it rain'd on the nurse, 
Who, mihke Danae, was none the worse ; 
There was nothing but guineas glistening! 
Fifty were given to Doctor James, 
For calling the little Baby names ; 
And for saying, Amen ! 
The Clerk had ten, 
And that was the end of the Christening. 



3l)er €t)tlT)l)ootr. 
Our youth ! our childhood ! that spring of springs 
'Tis surely one of the blessedest things 
That nature ever invented ! 



24t MISS KILMANSEGG 

When tlie rich are wealthy beyond their wealth, 
And the poor are rich in spirits and health, 
And all with their lots contented ! 

There's little Phelim, he sings like a thrush, 
In the selfsame pair of patchwork plush, 

AVith the selfsame empty pockets, 
That tempted his daddy so often to cut 
His throat, or jump in the water-butt — 
But what cares Phelim ? an empty nut 

Would sooner bring tears to their sockets. 

Give him a collar without a skirt, 

That's the Irish linen for shirt, 

And a slice of bread, with a taste of dirt, 

That's poverty's Irish butter. 
And what does he lack to make him blest ? 
Some oyster-shells, or a sparrow's nest, 

A candle-end and a gutter. 

But to leave the happy Phelim alone. 
Gnawing, perchance, a marrowless bone. 

For which no dog would quarrel — 
Turn we to little Miss Kilmansegg, 
Cutting her first little toothy-peg 
With a fifty-guinea coral — 
A peg upon which 
About poor and rich 
Reflection might hang a moral. 

Born in wealth, and wealthily nursed, 

Capp'd, papp'd, napp'd, and lapp'd from the first 

On the knees of Prodigality, 
Iler childhood was one eternal round 
Of the game of going on Tickler's ground 

Picking up gold — in reality. 

With extempoi'e carts she never play'd. 
Or the odJs and ends of a Tinker's trade, 



A'SD HER rKECIOUS LEG. 245 

Or little dirt pies and pnddini>s made, 

Like children happy and scpialid ; 
The very puppet she had to pet, 
Like a bait for the " Nix my Dolly " set, 

AVas a Dolly of gold — and solid! 

Gold ! and gold ! 'twas the burden still ! 
To gain the Heiress's early goodwill 

Tliere was nuich corruption and bribery — 
The yearly cost of her golden toys 
Would have given half London's Charity Boys 
And Charity Girls the annual joys 

Of a holiday dinner at Highbury. 

Bon-bons she ate from the gilt cornet; 
And gilded queens on St. Bartleniy's day ; 

Till her fancy was tinged by her presents — 
And first a goldfinch excited her wish, 
Then a spherical bowl with its Golden fish, 

And then two Golden Pheasants. 

Nay, once she squall'd and scream'd like wild — • 
And it shows how the bias we give to a child 

Is a thing most weighty and solemn : — 
But whence was wonder or blame to spring 
If little Miss K., — after such a swing — 
Made a dust for the flaming gilded thing 

On the top of the Fish Street column ? 



3^cv IStiucntfon. 
According to metaphysical creed, 
To the earliest books that children read 

For much good or much bad they are debtors — 
But before with their A B C they start, 
There are things in morals, as well as art, 
That play a very important part — 

" Impressions betbre the letters." 



246 MISS KILMANSEGG 

Dame Education begins tlie pile, 
Mayhap in the graceful Corinthian style, 

But alas for the elevation ! 
If the Lady's maid or Gossip the Nurse 
With a load of rubbish, or something worse, 

Have made a rotten foundation. 

Even thus with little Miss Kilmansegg, 
Before she learnt her E for egg, 

Ere her Governess came, or her masters — 
Teachers of quite a different kind 
Had " cramm'd " her beforehand, and put her 
mind 

In a go-cart on golden castors. 

Long before her A B and C, 

They had taught her by heart her L. S. D. 

And how she was born a great Heiress; 
And as sure as London is built of bricks, 
My Lord would ask her the day to fix. 
To ride in a fine gilt coach and six, 

Like Her Worship the Lady May'ress. 

Instead of st-ories from Edgeworth's page. 
The true golden lore for our golden age. 

Or lessons from Barbauld and Trimmer, 
Teaching the worth of Virtue and Health, 
All that she knew was the Virtue of Wealth, 
Provided by vulgar nursery stealth 

With a Book of Leaf Gold for a Primer. 

The very metal of merit they told, 

And praised her for being as " good as golcj ! " 

Till she grew as a peacock haughty ; 
Of money they talk'd the whole day round, 
And weigh'd dessert like grapes by the pound, 
Till she had an idea from the very sound 

That people with nought were naughty. 



AND HER PRECIOUS LEG, 247 

They praised — poor eliildren witli nothing; at all I 
Lord I how you twaddle and waddle and squall 

Like common-bred (leeiie and ganders ! 
What sad little bad Utile figures you make 
To the rieh Miss K., whose plainest seed-cake 

Was stuff'd with corianders ! 

They praised her falls, as well as her walk, 
Flatterers make cream cheese of chalk, 
They praised — how they praised — her very smaU 
talk, 

As if it fell from a Solon ; 
Or the girl who at each pretty phrase let drop 
A ruby comma, or pearl full-stop, 

Or an emerald semi-colon. 

They praised her spirit, and now and then, 
The Nurse brought her own little " nevy " Ben, 

To play with the future May'ress, 
And when he got raps, and taps, and slaps, 
Scratches, and jiinches, snips, and snaps. 

As if from a Tigress, or Bearess, 
They told him how Lords would court that hand, 
And always gave him to understand, 
While he rubb'd, poor soul. 
His carroty poll. 

That his hair had been puU'd by " a Hairess. 

Such were the lessons from maid and nurse, 
A Governess help'd to make still worse. 
Giving an appetite so perverse 

Fresh diet wiiereon to batten^ 
Beginning with A B C to hold 
Like a royal playbill printed in gold 

On a square of pearl-white satin. 

The books to teach the verbs and nouns. 
And those about countries, cities, and towns, 
lustead of their sober drabs and browns. 



248 MISS KILMANSEGG 

Were in crimson silk, with gilt edges ; — 
Her Butler, and Enfield, and Entic-k — in short 
Her " Early Lessons " of every sort, 

Look'd like Souvenirs, Keepsakes, and Pledges. 

Old Johnson shone out in as fine array 

As he did one night when he went to the play ; 

Chambaud like a beau of King Charles's day — 

Lindley Murray in like conditions — 
Each weary, unwelcome, irksome task, 
Appear'd in a fancy dress and a mask — 
If you wish for similar copies ask 

For Howell and James's Editions. 

Novels she read to amuse her mind, 

But always the affluent match-making kind 

That ends with Promessi Sposi, 
And a father-in-law so wealthy and grand, 
He could give cheque-mate to Coutts in the 
Strand ; 

So, along with a ring and posy, 
He endows the Bride with Golconda off hand, 

And gives the Groom Potosi. 

Plays she perused — but she liked the best 
Those comedy gentlefolks always possess'd 

Of fortunes so truly romantic — 
Of money so ready that right or wrong 
It always is ready to go for a song, 
Throwing it, going it, pitching it strong — - 
They ought to have purses as green and long 

As the cucumber call'd the Gigantic. 

Then Eastern Tales she loved for the sake 
Of the purse of Oriental make, 

And the thousand pieces they put in it — • 
But Pastoral Scenes on her heart fell cold, 
For Nature with her had lost its hold, 
No field but the Field of the Cloth of Gold 

Would ever have caught her foot in it. 



AND TIER PHKCIOUS LKG 219 

What more ? She loarnt to siiiir, and dance, 
To sit on a horse, akhouuli he sljould j)rance, 
And to speak a French not sjJokiMi in France 

Any more tlian at Habel's huihlinfj — 
And she painted shells, and Howers, and Tnrks, 
But her great delight was in Fancy Works 

That are done Avith gold or gilding. 

Gk)ld ! still gol«l ! — the bright and the dead, 
With golden beads, and gold lace, and gold 

thread 
She work'd in gold, as if for her bread ; 

The metal had so undermined her. 
Gold ran in her thoughts and fill'd her brain, 
She was golden-headed as Petei-'s cane 

With which he walk'd behind her. 



3^cx ^ccfbcnt. 

The horse that carried ]Miss Kilmansegg, 
And a better never lifted leg, 

Was a very rich bay, call'd Banker — 
A horse of a breed and a metal so rare, — 
By Bullion out of an Innot mare, — 
Tiiat for action, the best of figures, and air, 

It made many good judges hanker. 

And when she took a ride in the Park, 
Ecjuestrian Lord, or pedestrian Clerk, 

Was thrown in an amorous fever. 
To see the Heiress how well she sat. 
With her groom behind her. Bob or Nat, 
In Green, half smother'd with gold, and a hat 

With more gold lace tiian beaver. 

And then A\'1ien Banker obtain'd a pat, 

To see how he arch'd his neck at that ! 

He snorted with priile antl pU;asure 1 



2j0 miss kilmansegg 

Like the Steed in the fable so lofty and grand, 
Who gave the poor Ass to understand, 
That he didn't carry a bag of sand, 
But a burden of golden treasure. 

A load of treasure ? — alas ! alas ! 

Had her horse but been fed upon English grass, 

And, shelter'd in Yorkshire spinneys, 
Had he scour'd the sand Ayith the Desart Ass, 

Or where the American whinnies — 
But a huuter from Erin's turf and gorse, 
A regular thorough-bred Irish horse, 
Why, he ran away, as a matter of course, 

With a girl worth her weight in guineas ! 

Mayhap 'tis the trick of such pamper'd nags 
To shy at the sight of a beggar in rags, 

But away, like the bolt of a rabbit. 
Away went the horse in the madness of fright, 
And away went the horsewoman mocking the 

sight — 
Was yonder blue flash a flash of blue light, 

Or only the skirt of her habit? 

Away she flies, with the groom behind, — 
It looks like a race of the Calmuck kind. 

When Hymen himself is the starter : 
And the Maid rides first in the fourfboted strife, 
Riding, striding, as if for her life, 
While the Lover rides after to catch him a wife, 

Although it's catching a Tartar. 

But the Groom has lost his glittering hat ! 
Though he does not sigh and pull up for that — 
Alas ! his horse is a tit for Tat 

To sell to a very low bidder — ■ 
His wind is ruin'd, his shoulder is sprung, 
Things, though a horse be handsome and young, 

A purchaser will consider. 



AXD UEU PRECIOUS LEG. 251 

But still flies tlie Heiress through stones and 

dust, 
Ob, for a fall, if fall she must, 

On the gentle lap of Flora ! 
But still, thank Heaven ! she clings to her seat — 
Away ! away ! she could ride a dead heat 
With the Dead who ride so fast and fleet, 

In the Ballad of Leonora ! 

Away she gallops ! — it's awful work ! 
It's faster than Turpi n's ride to York, 

On Bess that notable clipper ! 
She has circled the Bing ! — she crosses the 

Park ! 
Mazeppa, although he was stripp'd so stark, 

Mazeppa couldn't outstrip her ! 

The fields seem running away with the folks I 
The Elms are having a race for the Oaks 1 

. At a pace that all Jockeys disparages ! 
All, all is racing! the Serpentine 
Seems rushing past like the " arrowy Rhine," 
The houses have got on a railway line, 
And are ofi" like the first-class carriages ! 

She'll lose her life ! she is losing her breath ! 
A cruel chase, she is chasing Death, 

As female sliriekings forewarn her: 
And now — as gratis as blood of Guelph — 
She clears that gate, which has clear'd itself 

Since then, at Hyde Park Corner I 

Alas ! for the hope of the Kilmanseggs ! 
For her head, her brains, her body, and legs. 
Her life's not worth a copper ! 
Willy-nilly, 
In Piccadilly, 
A hundred hearts turn sick and chilly, 
A hundred voices cry, " Stop her ! " 



252 MISS KiLMAXSEGG 

And one old gentleman stares and stands, 
Shakes his head and lifts his hands, 
And says, " How very improper!" 

On and on ! — what a perilous run ! 
The iron rails seem all mingling in one, 

To shut out the Green Park scenery ! 
And now the Cellar its dangers reveals. 
She shudders — she shrieks — she's doom'd, she 

feels. 
To be torn by powers of horses and wheels, 

Like a spinner by steam machinery ! 

Sick with horror she shuts her eyes, 
But the very stones seem uttering cries, 

As they did to that Persian daughter. 
When she climb'd up the steep vociferous hill, 
Her little silver flagon to fill 

With the magical Golden Water I 

" Batter her ! shatter her ! 

Throw and scatter her ! 
Shouts each stony-hearted chatterer! 

" Dash at the heavy Dover ! 
Spill her ! kill her ! tear and tatter her ! 
Smash her ! crash her ! " (the stones didn't flatter 

her!) 
" Kick her brains out ! let her blood spatter her 1 

Roll on her over and over ! " 

For so she gather'd the awful sense 

Of the street in its past unmacadamized tense, 

As the wild horse overran it, — 
His four heels making the clatter of six, 
Like a Devil's tattoo, play'd with iron sticks 

On a kettle-drum of granite ! 

On ! still on ! she's dazzled with hints 
Of oranges, ribbons, and colour'd prints, 



AND HER PRECIOUS LEG. 203 

A Kaleidoscope juinble of shapes and tints, 

And human faces all flashing, 
Bright and brief as the sparks from the flints, 

That the desperate hoof keeps dashing I 

On and on ! still frightfully fast ! 
Dover-street, Bond-street, all are past ! 
But — yes — no — yes ! — they're down at last ! 
The Furies and Fates have found them! 
Down they go with a sparkle and crash, 
Like a Bark that's struck by the lightning flash — 

There's a shriek — and a sob — 

And the dense dark mob 
Like a billow closes around them ! 

* * * m 

" She breathes ! " 
" She don't ! " 
» She'll recover ! ** 
" She won't ! " 
" She's stirring ! she's living, by Nemesis ' " 
Gold, still gohl! on counter and shelf! 
Golden dishes as plenty as delf ! 
Miss Kilmansegg's coming again to herself 
On an opulent Goldsmith's premises ! 

Gold I fine gold ! — both yellow and red, 
Beaten, and molten — polish'd, and dead — 
To see the gold with profusion spread 

In all forms of its manufacture ! 
But what avails gold to jNIiss Kilmansegg, 
VVhen the femoral bone of her dexter leg 

Has met with a compound fracture ? 

Gold may soothe Adversity's smart ; 
Nay, help to bind up a broken heart; 
But to try it on any other part 

Were as certain a disappointment, 
As if one should rub the dish and plate, 
Taken out of a Staffordshire crate — 



254 MISS KILMANSEGG 

In the hope of a Golden Service of State - 
With Singleton's " Golden Ointment." 



" As the twig is bent, the tree's inclined," 
Is an adage often recall'd to mind, 

Referring to juvenile bias : 
And never so well is the verity seen, 
As when to the weak, warp'd side we lean, 

While Life's tempests and hurricanes try us. 

Even thus with Miss K. and her broken limb, 
By a very, very remarkable whim, 

She show'd her early tuition : 
While the buds of character came into blow 
With a certain tinge that served to show 
The nursery culture long ago. 

As the graft is known by fruition ! 

For the King's Physician, who nursed the case, 
His verdict gave with an awful face, 

And three others concurr'd to egg it ; 
That the Patient to give old Death the slip. 
Like the Pope, instead of a personal trip, 

Must send her Leg as a Legate. 

The limb was doom'd — it couldn't be saved I 
And like other people the patient behaved, 
Nay, bravely that cruel parting braved. 

Which makes some persons so falter. 
They rather would part, without a groan, 
AVith the flesh of their flesh, and bone of their 
bone, 

They obtain'd at St. George's altar. 

But when it came to fitting the stump 
With a proxy limb — then flatly and plump 
She spoke, in the spirit olden ; 



ANT) HER PRECIOUS LEO. '2").' 

She couldn't — she shouldn't — she wouMn'f — ]\;r.« 

wood ! 
Ncr a log of cork, if she never stood ; 
And she swore an oath, or soniothing as iiool, 
The proxy limb should be golden ! 

A wooden leg ! what, a sort of peg. 

For your common Jockeys and Jennies I 
No, no, her mother might worry and i)lagiie — 
Weep, go down on her knees, and beg, 
But nothing would move Miss Kilmansegg! 
She could — she would have a Golden Leg, 
If it cos*" ten thousand guineas ! 

Wood indeed, in Forest or Park, 

With its sylvan honours and feudal bark, 

Is an aristocratical article : 
But split and sawn, and hack'd about town, 
Serving all needs of pauper or clown, 
Trod on ! stagger'd on ! Wood cut down 

Is vulgar — fibre and particle ! 

And Cork ! — when the noble Cork Tree shades 
A lovely group of Castilian maids, 

'Tis a thing for a song or sonnet ! — 
But cork, as it stops the bottle of gin. 
Or bungs the beer — the small beer — in, 
It pierced her heart like a corking-pin, 

To think of standing upon it ! 

A liCg of Gold — solid gold throughout. 
Nothing else, wliether slim or stout. 

Should ever support her, God willing! 
She must — she could— she would have her 

whim. 
Her father, she turn'd a deaf ear to him — 

He might kill her— she didn't mind killing! 
He was welcome to cut off" her other limb — 

He might cut her all off with a shilling! 



■ on MISS KILMANSEGG 

All otber promised gifts were in vain, 

Golden Girdle, or Golden Chain, 

She writhed with impatience more than pain, 

And utter'd -" pshaws !" and " pishes ! " 
But a Leg of Gold ! as she lay in bed, 
It danced before her — it ran in her head ! 

It jump'd with her dearest wishes ! 

" Gold— gold— gold ! Oh, let it be gold ! " 
Asleep or awake that tale she told, 

And when she grew delirious : 
Till her parents resolved to grant her wish, 
If they melted down plate, and goblet, and 
dish, 

The case was getting so serious. 

So a Leg was made in a comely mould. 
Of Gold, fine virgin glittering gold, 

As solid as man could make it — 
Solid in foot, and calf, and shank, 
A prodigious sum of money it sank ; 
In fact 'twas a Branch of the family Bank, 

And no easy matter to break it. 

All sterling metal — not half-and-half, 

The Goldsmith's mark was stamp'd on the calt^ 

'Twas pure as from Mexican barter! 
And to make it more costly, just over the knee. 
Where another ligature used to be, 
Was a circle of jewels, worth shillings to see, 

A new-fangled Badge of the Garter ! 

'Twas a splendid, brilliant, beautiful Leg, 
Fit for the Court of Scander-Beg, 
That Precious Leg of Miss Kilmansegg ! 

For, thanks to parental bounty, 
Secure from Mortification's touch. 
She stood on a Member that cost as much 

As a Member for all the County ! 



ASD HER PRECIOUS LEG. 257 



To gratify stern ambition's wliims, 

What hundreds and thousands of precious limba 

On a field of battle we scatter ! 
Sever'd by sword, or bullet, or saw, 
Oti" they go, all bleeding and i-aw, — 
But the public seems to get the lock-jaw, 

So little is said on the matter ! 

Legs, the tightest that ever were seen. 
The tightest, the lightest, that danced on the 
green, 

Cutting capers to sweet Kitty Clover ; 
Shatter'd, scatter'd, cut, and bowl'd down, 
Off they go, worse off for renown, 
A line in the Times, or a talk about town. 

Than the leg that a fly runs over ! 



That gowden, goolden, golden leg. 

Was the theme of all conversation ! 
Had it been a Pillar of Church and State, 
Or a prop to suj^port the whole Dead Weight, 
It could not have furnish'd more debate 
To the heads and tails of the nation ! 

East and west, and north and south, 

Though useless for either hunger or drouth, — 

The Leg was in everybody'^ mouth, 

To use a poetical figure, 
Kumour, in taking her ravenous swim, 
Saw, and seized on the tempting limb. 

Like a shark on the leg of a nigger. 

Wilful murder fell very dead ; 
Debates in the House were hardly read ; 
In vain the Police Reports were fed 
VOL. 1. 17 



2r)8 MISS KILMANSHGG 

With Irish riots and rumpuses — 
The Leg ! the Leg ! was the great event, 
Through every circle in life it went, 

Like the leg of a pair of compasses. 

The last new Novel seem'd tame and flat, 
The Leg, a novelty newer than that, 

Had tripp'd up the heels of Fiction ! 
It Burked the very essays of Burke, 
And, alas ! how Wealth over Wit plays the Turk : 
As a regular piece of goldsmith's work, 

Got the better of Goldsmith's diction. 

" A leg of gold ! what of solid gold ? " 
Cried rich and poor, and young and old — 

And Master and Miss and Madam — 
'Twas the talk of 'Change — the Alley — the 

Bank — 
And with men of scientific rank, 
It made as much stir as the fossil shank 

Of a Lizard coeval with Adam ! 

Of course with Greenwich and Chelsea elves, 
Men who had lost a limb themselves. 

Its interest did not dwindle — ■ 
But Bill, and Ben, and Jack, and Tom 
Could hardly have spun more yarns therefrom, 

If the leg had been a spindle. 

Meanwhile the story went to and fro, 
Till, gathering like the ball of snow. 
By the time it got to Strattbrd-le-Bow, 

Through Exaggeration's touches. 
The Heiress and Hope of the Kilmanseggs 
Was propp'd on two fine Golden Legs, 

And a pair of Golden Crutches ! 

Never had Leg so great a run ! 
'Twas the "go" and the "Kick" thrown into 
one I 



AND Hi:U PRKCIOUS LEG. 259 

The mode— the new thing under the sun, 

The rage — the fancy — the passion ! 
Bonnets were named, and hats were worn, 
A la Golden Leg instead of Leghorn, 
And stockings and shoes, 
Of golden hues. 
Took the lead in the walks of fashion ! 

The Golden Leg had a vast career, 
It was sung and danced — and to show how 
near 

Low Folly to lofty approaches, 
Down to society's very dregs, 
The Belles of Wapping wore " Kilmanseggs," 
And St. Giles's Beaux sported Golden Legs 

In their pinchbeck pins and brooches ! 



J^ev JflxBt Step. 

Supposing the Trunk and Limbs of Man 
Shared, on the allegorical plan, 

By the Passions that mark Humanity, 
Whichever might claim the head, or heart, 
The stomach, or any other part, 

The Legs would be seized by Vanity. 

There 's Bardus, a six-foot column of fop, 
A lighthouse without any light atop, 

Whose height would attract beholders, 
If he had not lost some inches clear 
By looking down at his kerseymere. 
Ogling the limbs he holtls so dear, 

Till he got a stoop in his shoulders. 

Talk of Art, of Science, or Books, 
And down go the everlasting looks. 
To his crural lieauties so wedded ! 
Try hint, whenever yoii will. \ou find 



260 MISS KILMAIS'SEGG 

His mind in his legs, and his legs in his mind, 
All prongs and folly — in short a kind 
Of fork — that is Fiddle-headed. 

What wonder, then, if Miss Kilmansegg, 
With a splendid, brilliant, beautiful leg, 
Fit for the Court of Seander-Beg, 
Disdain'd to hide it Hke Joan or Meg, 

In petticoats stuff 'd or quilted ? 
Not she ! 'twas her convalescent whim 
To dazzle the world with her precious limb, — 

Nay, to go a little high-kilted. 

So cards were sent for that sort of mob 
Where Tartars and Africans hob-and-nob. 
And the Cherokee talks of his cab and cob 

To Polish or Lapland lovers — 
Cards like that hieroglyphieal call 
To a geographical Fancy Ball 

On the recent Post-Office covers. 

For if Lion-hunters — and great ones too — 

Would mob a savage from Latakoo, 

Or squeeze for a glimpse of Prince Le Boo, 

That unfortunate Sandwich scion — 
Hundreds of first-rate people, no doubt, 
Would gladly, madly, rush to a rout, 

That promised a Golden Lion ! 



J^zt JFanc£ Ball. 

Of all the spirits of evil fame 
That hurt the soul or injure the frame, 
And poison what's honest and hearty. 
There's none more needs a Mathew to preach 
A cooling, antiphlogistic speech. 
To praise and enforce 
A temperate course. 
Than the Evil Spirit of Party. 



AND HKR PRECIOUS LEG 26 J 

Go to the House of Commons, or Lords, 
And they seem to be busy with simple words 

In their popular sense or pedantic — 
But, alas ! with their cheeis. and sneers, and jeers, 
They 're really busy, whatever appears, 
Putting peas in each other's ears, 

To drive their enemies frantic 1 

Thus Tories love to worry the Whigs, 

Who treat them in turn like Schwalbach pig3, 

Giving them lashes, thrashes, and tligs, 

With their writhing and pain delighted — 
But after all that's said, and more. 
The malice and s])ite of Party are poor 
To the malice and spite of party next door, 

To a party not invited. 

On with the cap and out with the light, 
Weariness bids the world good night. 

At least for the usual season ; 
But hark ! a clatter of horses' heels; 
And Sleep and Silence are broken on wheels, 

Like Wilful Murder and Treason ! 

Another crash — and the carriage goes — 
Again poor Weariness seeks the repose 

Tiiat Nature demands imperious ; 
But Echo takes up the burden now, 
With a rattling chorus of row-de-dow-dow, 
Till Silence herself seems making a row, 

Like a Quaker gone delirious ! 

'Tis night — a winter night— and the stars 
Are shining like winkin'— Venus and Mai-s 
Are roUing^along in tlieir golden cars 

Through the sky's serene expan><ion — 
But vainly the stars dispense their rays, 
Venus and ]\Lirs are lost in the blaze 

Of the Kilmanseggs' luminous mansion ! 



(J2 MISS KILMAXSEGG 

Up jumps Feai' in a terrible frioi;ht ! 
His bedchamber windows look so bright, 

With light all the Square is glutted! . 
Up he jumps, like a sole from the pan, 
And a tremor sickens his inward man, 
For he feels as only a gentleman can, 

Who thinks he 's being " gutted." 

Again Fear settles, all snug and warm; 
But onlj to dream of a dreadful storm 

From Autumn's sulphurous locker ; 
But the only electric body that falls, 
Wears a negative coat and positive smalls, 
And draws the peal that so appalls 

From the Kilmanseggs' brazen knocker ! 

'Tis Curiosity's Benefit night— 

And perchance 'tis the Enghsh Second-Sight, 

But whatever it be, so be it — 
As the friends and guests of Miss Kilmansegg 
Crowd in to look at her Golden Leg, 
As many more 
Mob round the door, 
To see them going to see it ! 

In they go — in jackets and cloaks, 
Plumes, and bonnets, turbans, and toques. 

As if to a Congress of Nations : 
Greeks and Malays, with daggers and dirks, 
Spaniards, Jews, Chinese, and Turks — 
Some like original foreign works. 

But mostly like bad translations. 

In they go, and to work like a pack, 

Juan, Moses, and Shacabac, 

Tom, and Jerry, and Springheel'd Jack, 

For some of low Fan(*y are lovers — 
Skirting, zigzagging, casting about, 
Here and there, and in and out, 



AND nEK PKKOIOUS LEG. 263 

V\'ith a crush, and a rush, for a full-bodied rout 
111 one of the stillest of covers. 

In they went, and hunted about. 
Open mouth'd like cliub and trout, 
And some with the ui)j)er lip thrust out, 

Like that fish for routing, a barbel — 
While Sir Jacob stood to welcome the crowd, 
And rubb'd his hands, and smiled aloud. 
And bow'd, and bow'd, and bow'd, and bow'd, 

Like a man who is sawing marble. 

For Princes were there, and Noble Peers ; 
Dukes descended from Norman spears; 
Earls that dated from eai'ly years ; 

And Lords in vast variety — 
Besides the Gentry both new and old — 
For people who stand on legs of gold, 

Are sure to stand well with society. 

" But where — where — where ? " with one accord 
Cried Moses and Mufti, Jack and my Lord, 

^Vang-Fong and 11 Bondocani — 
When slow, and heavy, and dead as a dump. 
They heard a foot begin to stump. 
Thump ! lump ! 
Lump ! thump ! 
Like the Spectre in " Don Giovanni ! " 

And lo! the Heiress, Miss Kilmansegg, 
With her splendid, l)iilliant, beautiful leg, 

In the garb of a Goddess olden — 
Like chaste Diana going lo hunt. 
With a gold' n spear — which of course was blunt, 
And a tunic loop'd up to a gem in front. 

To show the Leg that was Golden ! 

Gold ! still gold ! her Crescent behold, 
That should be silver, but would be gold ; 



264 MISS KILMANSEGG 

And her robe's auriferous spangles ! 
Her golden stomacher — how she would melt ! 
Her golden quiver, and golden belt, 

Where a golden bugle dangles ! 

And her jewell'd Garter? Oh, Sin ! Oh, Shame, 
Let Pride and Vanity bear the blame, 
That brings such blots on female fame ! 

But to be a true recorder, 
Besides its thin transparent stuff, 
The tunic was loop'd quite high enough 

To give a glimpse of the Order ! 

But what have sin or shame to do 

With a Golden Leg — and a stout one too ? 

Away with all Prudery's panics ! 
That the precious metal, by thick and thin, 
Will cover square acres of land or sin, 
Is a fact made plain 
Again and again. 
In Morals as well as Mechanics. 

A few, indeed, of her proper sex, 
Who seem'd to feel her foot on their necks. 
And fear'd their charms would meet with 
checks 
From so rare and splendid a blazon — 
A few cried " fie ! " — and " forward " — and 

"bold!" 
And said of the Leg it might be gold, 
But to them it look'd like brazen ! 

'Twas hard they hinted for flesh and blood, 
Virtue, and Beauty, and all that 's good. 

To strike to mere dross their topgallants — 
But what were Beauty, or Virtue, or Worth, 
Gentle manners, or gentle birth, 
Nay, what the most talented head on earth 

To a leg worth fifty Talents ! 



AXD HEU rUECIOUS LEG. 2Go 

But tlie men sano; quite another hymn 

Of glory and praise to the precious Limb — 

Age, sordid Age, admired the whim, 

And its indecorum pardon'd — 
While half of the young — ay, more than half — 
Bow'd down and worshipp'd the Golden Calf, 

Like the Jews when their hearts were hardeii'd. 

A Golden Leg ! what fancies it fired ! 
What Golden wishes and hopes inspired ! 

To give but a mere abridgment — 
W^hat a leg to leg-bail Embarrassment's serf 1 
What a leg for a Leg to take on the turf ! 

AVhat a leg for a marching regiment ! 

A Golden Leg ! — whatever Love sings, 
'Twas worth a bushel of " Plain Gold Rings" 
- With which the Romantic wheedles. 
'Twas worth all the legs in stockings and socks — 
'Twas a leg that might be put in the Stocks. 
N. B — Not the parish beadle's! 

And Lady K. nid-nodded her head, 
Lapp'd in a turban fancy-bred. 
Just like a love-apple, huge and red. 
Some Mussul-womanish mystery ; 
But whatever she meant 
To represent. 
She talk'd like the IMuse of History. 

She told how the filial leg was lost ; 
And then how much the gold one cost ; 

With its weight to a Trojan fraction : 
And how it took olf, and how it put on; 
And call'd on Devil, Duke, and Don, 
Mahomet, Moses, and Prester John, 

To notice its beautiful action. 

And then of the Leg she went in (jiicst; 
And led it where the lijjht was bc.-«i : 



2G6 MISS KILMANSRGG 

And made It lay itself up to rest 

In postures for painters' studies: 
It cost more tricks and trouble by half, 
Than it takes to exhibit a six-legg'd Calf 

To a boothful of country Cuddies. 

Nor yet did the Heiress herself omit 
The arts that help to make a hit, 

And preserve a prominent station. 
She talk'd and laugh'd far more than her 

share ; 
And took a part in " Rich and Hare 
Were the gems she wore " — and the gems were 
there, 
Like a Song with an illustration. 

She even stood up with a Count of France 
To dance — alas ! the measures we dance 

When Vanity plays the Piper! 
Vanity, Vanity, apt to betray, 
And lead all sorts of legs astray, 
Wood, or metal, or human clay, — 

Since Satan first play'd the Viper ! 

But first she doff'd her hunting gear. 

And favour'd Tom Tug with her golden spear. 

To row with down the river — 
A Bonze had her golden bow to hold; 
A Hermit her belt and bugle of gold; 

And an Abbot her golden quiver. 

And then a space was clear'd on the floor, 
And she walk'd the Minuet de la Cour, 
With all the pomp of a Pompadour, 

But although she began andante^ 
Conceive the faces of all the Rout, 
When she finish'd off with a whirligig bout, 
And the Precious Leg stuck stiffly out 

Like the leg of a FlguranU ! 



AXD ITKR PHFCIOUS LEG. 2G7 

So the courtly dance was goUlenly done, 
And golden opinions, of course, it won 

From all different sorts of people — 
Chiming, ding-dong, with flattering phrase, 
la one vociferous peal of praise, 
Like the peal that rings on Royal days 

From Loyalty's parish-steeple. 

And yet, had the leg been one of those 
That dance for bread in flesh-colour'd hose, 

With Rosina's pastoral bevy, 
The jeers it had met, — the shouts! the scolfl 
The cutting advice to " take itself off," 

For sounding but half so heavy. 

Had it been a leg like those, perchance, 
That teach little girls and boys to dance, 
To set, poussette, recede, and advance. 

With the steps and figures most proper, — 
Had it hopp'd for a weekly or quarterly sum, 
How little of praise or grist would have come 

To a mill with such a hopper! 

But the Leg was none of those limbs forlorn — 
Bartering capers and hops for corn — 
That meet with public hisses and scorn. 

Or the moi-ning journal denounces — 
Had it pleased to caper from morn till dusk. 
There was all the music of "Money Musk" 

In its ponderous bangs and bounces. 

But hark ! — as slow as the strokes of a pump, 
Lum]), thump ! 
Thump, lump ! 
As the Giant of Castle Otranto might stump 

To a lower room from an upper — 
Down she goes with a noisy dint. 
For taking the crimson turl»au's hint, 
A noble Lord at the Head of the Mint 
Is leading the Leg to supper ! 



268 MISS KILMANSEGG 

But ihe supper, alas ! must rest untold, 
With its blaze of light and its glitter of gold, 

For to paint that scene of glamour, 
It would need the Great Enchanter's charm, 
Who waves over Palace, and Cot, and Farm, 
An arm like the Goldbeater's Golden Arm 

That wields a Golden Hammer. 

He — only He — could fitly state 

The Massive Service of Golden Plate, 

With the proper phrase and expansion — ■ 
The Rare Selection of Foreign Wines— 
The Alps of Ice and Mountains of Pines, 
The punch in Oceans and sugary shrines, 
The Temple of Taste from Gunter's De- 
signs — 
In short, all that Wealth with A Feast com- 
bines, 

In a Splendid Family Mansion. 

Suffice it each mask'd outlandish guest 
Ate and drank of the very best, 

According to critical conners— 
And then they pledged the Hostess and Host, 
But the Golden Leg was the standing toast. 
And as somebody swore, 
Walk'd off with more 
Than its share of the " Hips ! " and honours I 

" Miss Kilmansegg ! — 
Full glasses I beg ! — 
Miss Kilmansegg and her precious Leg ! " 

And away went the bottle careering ! 
Wine in bumpers ! and shouts in peals ! 
Till the Clown didn't know his head from his heels, 
The Mussulman's eyes danced two-some reels. 
And the Quaker was hoarse with cheering ! 



AND IIl'lR PIUX'IOUS LKG. 26f) 

Jljrr Drram. 

Miss Kilmaiiseg^ took off her leg, 
And laid it down like a eribbage-peg, 

For the Rout was done and the riot: 
^The square was hush'd ; not a sound was heard ; 
I The sky was gray, and no creature stirr'd, 
Except one little precocious bird, 

That chirp'd — and then was quiet) 

So still without, — so still within ; — 
It had been a sin 
To drop a pin — 
So intense is silence after a din. 

It seem'd like Death's rehearsal ! 
To stir the air no eddy came ; 
And the taper burnt with as still a flame, 
As to flicker had been a burning shame, 
In a calm so universal. 

The time for sleep had come at last; 
And there was the bed, so soft, so vast. 

Quite a field of Bedfordshire clover ; 
Softer, cooler, and calmer, no doubt. 
From the piece of work just ravell'd out, 
* For one of the pleasui-es of having a rouf 

Is the pleasure of having it over. '^ 

No sordid pallet, or truckle mean. 

Of straw, and rug, and tatters unclean ; 

But a splendid, gihJed, carved machine, 

That was fit for a Royal Chamber. 
On the top was a gorgeous golden wreath ; 
And the damask curtains hung beneath, 

Like clouds of crimson and amber. 

Curtains, held up by two httle plump things, 
With golden bodies and golden wings,— 
Mere fins for such solidities — 



270 MISS KILMANSEGG 

Two Cupids, In short, 
Of the regular sort, 
But the housemaid call'd them " Cupidities.' 

No patchwork quilt, all seams and scars, 
But velvet, powder'd with golden stars, 

A fit mantle for Night-CommaLYiders ! 
And the pillow, as Avhite as snow undimm'd, 
And as cool as the pool that the breeze had 

skimm'd, 
Was cased in the finest cambric, and trimm'd 

•With the costliest lace of Flanders. 

And the bed — of the Eider's softest down, 
'Twas a place to revel, to smother, to drown 

In a bliss inferr'd by the Poet ; 
For if Ignorance be indeed a bliss. 
What blessed ignorance equals this. 

To sleep — and not to know it ? 
■ Oh, bed ! oh, bed ! dehcious bed ! ) 
/ 
That heaven upon earth to the weary head ; 
But a place that to name would be ill-bred, 

To the head Avith a wakeful trouble — • 
'Tis held by such a different lease ! 
To one, a place of comfort and peace, 
All stuff 'd with the down of stubble geese, 

To another with only the stubble ! ; 

To one a perfect Halcyon nest, 

All calm, and balm, and quiet, and rest, 

And soft as the fur of the cony — 
To another, so restless for body and head, 
That the bed seems borrow'd from Nettlebed, 

And the pillow from Stratford the Stony ! 

? To the happy, a first-class carriage of ease. 
To the Land of Nod, or Avhere you please ; 
But alas ! tor the watchers and weeper8,> 



AND HKR PRKCrOUS I.KG. 271 

Who turn, and turn, and turn ap;ain, 
But turn, and turn, and turn in vain, 

With an anxious brain. 

And thoughts in a train 
That does not run upon deepers ! 

Wide awake as the mousing owl, 
Night-Hawk, or other nocturnal fowl, — 

But more profitless vigils keeping — 
W^ide awake in the dark they stare. 
Filling with phantoms the vacant air, 
As if that Crook-back'd Tyrant Care 

Had plotted to kill them sleeping. 

t And oh ! when the blessed diurnal light 
Is queneh'd by the providential night, 

To render our slumber more certain, 
Pity, pity the wretches that weep. 
For they must be wretched who cannot sleep 

When God himself draws the curtain ! 

The careful Betty the pillow beats. 

And airs the blankets, and smooths the sheets, 

And gives the mattress a shaking — 
But vainly Betty performs her part, 
If a ruffled head and a rumpled heart 

As well as the couch want making. 

There's Morbid, all bile, and verjuice, and nerves, 
Where other people would make preserves, 

He turns his fruits into pickles: 
Jealous, envious, and fretful by day. 
At night, to his own sharp tiinclcs a prey, 
He lies like a hedgehog roU'd up the wrong way. 

Tormenting himself with his prickles. 

But a child — th \t bids the world good night, 
In downright earnest and cuts it quite — 
A Cherub no Art can copy,— 



27'i MISS KILMANSEGG 

'Tis a perfect picture to see him He 
As if he had supp'd on dormouse pie, 
(An ancient classical dish by the by) 
With a sauce of syrup of poppy. 

i Oh, bed ! bed ! bed ! delicious bed ! 
That heaven upon earth to the weary head, 

Whether lofty or low its condition ! 
But instead of putting our plagues on shelves, 
In our blankets how often we toss ourselves, 
Or are toss'd by sucli allegorical elves 
As Pride, Hate, Greed, and Ambition ! ) 

The independent Miss Kilmansegg 
Took off her independent Leg 

And laid it beneath her pillow, 
And then on the bed her frame she cast, 
The time for repose had come at last. 
But long, long, after the storm is past 
Rolls the turbid, turbulent billow. 

No part she had in vulgar cares 

That belong to common household affairs — 

Nocturnal annoyances such as theirs 

AVho lie with a shrewd surmising 
That while they are couchant (a bitter cup !) 
Their bread and butter are getting up, 

And the coals — confound them ! — are rising. 

No fear she had her sleep to postpone. 
Like the crippled Widow who weeps alone, 
And cannot make a doze her own. 

For the dread that mayhap on the morrow, 
The true and Christian reading to balk, 
A broker will take up her bed and walk, 

By way of curing her sorrow. 

jNo cause like these she had to bewail : 
■ But the breath of applause had blown a gale, 
And winds from that quarter seldom fail 



AND HER PKECIOUS LEG. 2/3 

To cause some human commotion; 
But whenever such breezes coincide 

AVirh the very spring-tide 

Of human pride, 
There's no such swell on the ocean ! ^i 

Peace, and ease, and slumber lost, 

She turn'd, and roU'd, and tumbled, and toss'd, 

With a tumult that would not settle: 
A common case, indeed, with such 
As have too little, or think too much, 

Of the precious and glittering metal. 

Gold ! — she saw at her golden foot 
The Peer whose tree had an olden root. 
The Proud, the Great, the Learned to boot, 

The handsome, the gay, and the Avitty — 
The Man of Science — of Arms — of Art, 
The man who deals but at Pleasure's mart, 

And the man who deals in the City. 

Gold, still gold — and true to the mould ! 
In the very scheme of her dream it told ; 

For, by magical ti'ausmutation. 
From her Leg through her body it seem'd to go. 
Till, gold above, an(l gold below. 
She was gold, all gold, from her little gold toe 

To her organ of Veneration ! 

And still she retain'd, through Fancy's art. 
The Golden Bow, and the GoMen Dart, 
With which she had play'd a Goddess's part 

In her recent glorification. 
And still, like on"e of the self-same brood. 
On a Plinth of the self-same metal she stood 

For the whole world's adoration. 

And hymns of incense around her roll'd. 
From Golden Harps and Censers of Gold,— 

VOL. 1. 18 



274 MISS KILMANSEGG 

^' For Fancy in dreams is as uncontroll'd 
As a horse Avithout a bridle : ) 
What wonder, then, from all checks exempt, 
If, inspired by the Golden Leg. she dreamt 
She was turn'd to a Golden Idol ? 



?]^er €ourtfft)fp. 
When leaving Eden's happy land 
The grieving Angel led by the hand 

Our banish'd Father and Mother, 
Forgotten amid their awful doom, 
The tears, the feai^, and the future's gloom, 
On each brow was a wreath of Paradise bloom, 

That our Parents had twined for each other 

It was only while sitting like figures of stone, 
For the grieving Angel had skyward flown. 
As they sat, those Two, in the world alone, 

With disconsolate hearts nigh cloven. 
That scenting the gust of happier hours. 
They look'd around for the precious flow'rs. 
And lo ! — a last relic of Eden's dear bow'rs— 

The chaplet that Love had woven ! 

And still, when a pair of Lovers meet. 
There 's a sweetness in air, unearthly sweet, 
That savour still of that happy retreat 

Where Eve by Adam was courted: 
Whilst the joyous Thrush, and the gentle Dove, 
Woo'd their mates in the boughs above. 

And the Serpent, as yet, only sported. 

Who hath not felt that breath in the air, 
A perfume and freshness strange and rare, 
A warmth in the light, and a bliss everywhere, 

When young hearts yearn togetl)er ? 
All sweets below, and all sunny above, 
Oh ! there 's nothing in life like making love, 

Save making hay in fine weather ! 



AND HER PRECIOUS LEG. 275 

Who hath not found amongst his flow'rs 
A blossom too bright tor this world of ours, 

Like a rose among snows of Sweden i* 
But to turn again to Miss Kilmansegg, . 
Where must Love have gone to beg, 
If such a thing as a Golden Leg 

Had put its foot in Eden ! 

And yet — to tell the rigid truth — 

Her favour was sought by Age and Youth — 

For the prey will find a prowler ! 
She was follow'd, ilatter'd, courted, address'd, 
Woo'd, and coo'd, and wheedled, and press'd. 
By suitors from North, South, E.ist, and West, 

Like that Heiress, in song, Tibbie Fowler ! 

But, alas ! alas ! for the Woman's fate, 
Who has from a mob to choose a mate I 

'T is a strange and painful ni}stery ! 
But the more the eggs, the worse the hatch ; 
The more the fish, the worse the catch ; 
The more the sparks, the worse the match ; 

Is a fact in \V'omau's history. 

Give her between a brace to pick. 
And, mayhap, with luck to help the trick, 
She will take the Faustus, and leave the Old 
Nick- 
But her future bliss to baffle. 
Amongst a score let her have a voice, 
And she '11 have as little cause to rejoice, 
As if she had won the " Man of her choice** 
In a matrimonial raffle ! 

Thus, even thus, with the Heiress and Hope, 
Fulfilling the adage of too much rope, 

With so ample a competition, 
She chose the least worthy of all the group, 
Just as the Vulture makes a stoop. 



276 MISS KILMANSEGG 

And Singles out from the herd or troop 
The beast of the worst condition. 

A Foreign Count, who came incog., 
Not under a cloud, but under a fog, 
In a Calais packet's fore-cabin, 
To charm some lady British-born, 
With his eyes as black as the fruit of the thorn, 
And his hooky nose, and his beard half-shorn, 
Like a half-converted JRabbin. 

And because the Sex confess a charm 
In the man who has slash'd a head or arm, 

Or has been a throat's undoing. 
He Avas dress'd like one of the glorious trade. 
At least when glory is off parade, 
With a stock, and a frock, well trimm'd with 
braid. 

And frogs — that went a-wooing. 

Moreover, as counts are apt to do, 

On the left-hand side of his dark surtout. 

At one of those holes that buttons go through, 

(To be a precise recorder,) 
A ribbon he wore, or rather a scrap. 
About an inch of ribbon mayhap. 
That one of his rivals, a whimsical chap, 

Described as his " Retail Order." 

And then — and much it help'd his chance — 
He could sing, and play first fiddle, and dance, 
rerform charades, and Proverbs of France — 

Act the tender, and do the cruel ; 
For amongst his other killing parts, 
He had broken a brace of female hearts, 

And murder'd three men in duel ! 

Savage at heart, and false of tongue, 
Subtle with age, and smooth to the young, 



AND HER rUlXlOUS LKG. 277 

Like a snake in his coiling and curlinnr — 
Such was the Count — to uive liiin a niche — 
Who came to couit that Heiress rich, 
And knelt at her foot — one needn't say which— 

Besieging her Castle of Sterling, 

With pray'rs and vows he open'd his trench, 
And plied her with English, Spanish, and French 

In phrases the most sentimental : 
And quoted poems in High and Low Dutch, 
With now and then an Italian touch, 
Till she yielded, without resisting much, 

To homage so continental. 

And then the sordid bargain to close. 
With a miniature sketch of his hooky nose, 
And his dear dark eyes, as black as sloes, 
And his beard and whiskers as black as those, 

The lady's consent he requited — 
And instead of the lock that lovers beg. 
The Count received from Miss Kilmansegg 
A model, in small, of her Precious Leg — 

And so the couple were plighted ! 

But, oh ! the love that gold must crown 1 
Better — better, the love of the clown. 
Who admires his lass in her Sunday gown, 

As if all the fairies had dress'd her ! 
Whose brain to no crooked thought gives birth, 
Except that he never will part on earth 

With his true love's crooked tester I 

Alas ! for the love that's link'd with gold I 
Better — better a thousand times told — 

More honest, liappy, and laudable. 
The downright loving of pretty Cis, 
Who wipes her lips, though there's nothing amiss, 
And takes a kiss, and gives a kiss. 

In which her heart is audible ! 



278 ' MISS KILMAXSEUG 

Pretty Cis, so smiliniji; and bright, 

Who loves as she labours, with all her might, 

And without any sonlid leaven ! 
Who blushes as red as haws and hips, 
Down to her very finger-tips, 
For Roger's blue ribbons — to her, like strips 

Cut out of the azure of Heaven I 



'Twas morn — a most auspicious one ! 
From the Golden East, the Golden Sun 
Came forth his glorious race to run, 

Through clouds of most splendid tinges ; 
Clouds that lately slept in shade, 
But now seem'd made 
Of gold brocade. 
With magnificent golden fringes. 

Gold above, and gold below, 

The earth reflected the golden glow, 

From river, and hill, and valley ; 
Gilt by the golden light of morn. 
The Thames — it look'd like the Golden Horn, 
And the Barge, that carried coal or corn, 

Like Cleopatra's Galley ! 

Bright as clusters of Golden-rod, 
Suburban poplars began to nod. 

With extempore splendour furnish'd ; 
While London was bright with glittering clocks, 
Golden dragons, and Golden cocks, 
And above them all, 
The dome of St. Paul, 
With its goldeu Cioss and, its Golden Ball, 
Shone out as if newly burnish'd ! 

And lo ! for Golden Hours and Joys, 
Troops of glittering Golden Boys 



A^T> HER PRECIOUS LEG. 279 

Danced along with a jocund noise, 

And their oilded embk^ns earried ! 
In short, 'twas the year's most Golden Daj, 
By mortals call'd the First of May, 
When Miss Kilmansegg, 
Of the Golden Leg, 
With a Golden lling was married! 

And thousands of children, women, and men, 
Counted the clock from eight till ten, 

From St James's sonorous steeple ; 
For next to that interesting job, 
The hanging of Jack, or Bill, or Bob, 
There's nothing so draws a London mob 

As the noosing of very rich people. 

And a treat It was for a mob to behold 
The Bridal Carriage that blazed with Gold ! 
And the Footmen tall, and the Coachman bold, 

In liveries so resplendent — 
Coats you wonder'd to see in place. 
They seem'd so i-Ich with golden lace, 

That they might have been independent. 

Coats that made those menials proud 
Gaze with scorn on the dingy crowd, 

From their gilded elevations; 
Not to forget that saucy lad 
(Ostentation's favourite cad), 
The page, who look'd, so splendidly clad, 

Like a Page of the " Wealth of Nations." 

But the Coachman carried off the state. 
With what was a Lancashire body of late 

Tui-n'd into a Dresden Figure ; 
With a bridal Nosegay of early bloom, 
About the size of a birchen broom. 
And so huge a AVhite Favour, had Gog been 
Groom, 

He need not have worn a bigger. 



280 MISS KILMANSKGG 

And thea to see the Groom ! the Count ! 
With Foreign Orders to such an amount, 

And whiskers so wild — nay, bestial ; 
He seem'd to have borrow'd the shaggy hair 
As well as the Stars of the Polar Bear, 

To make him look celestial ! 

And then— Great Jove ! — the struggle, the crush, 
The screams, the heaving, the awful I'ush, 

The swearing, the tearing, and fighting, — 
The hats and bonnets smash'd like an egg — ■■ 
To catch a glimpse of the Golden Leg, 
Which, between the steps and Miss Kilmansegg, 

Was fully display'd in alighting ! 

From the Golden Ankle up to the Knee 
There it was for the mob to see ! 
A shocking act had it chanced to be 

A crooked leg or a skinny : 
But although a magnificent veil she wore, 
Such as never was seen before. 
In case of blushes, she blush'd no more 

Than George the First on a guinea ! 

Another step, and lo ! she was launch'd ! 
All in white, as Brides are hlancJi'd^ 

With a wreath of most wonderful splendoi r — 
Diamonds, and pearls, so rich in device. 
That, according to calculation nice, 
Her head was worth as royal a price 

As the head of the Young Pretender. 

Bravely she shone — and shone the more 
As she sail'd through the crowd of squalie and 
poor 

Thief, beggar, and tatterdemalion — 
Led by the Count, with his sloe-black eyes 
Bright with triumph, and some surprise. 
Like Anson on making sure of his prize 

The famous Mexican Galleon ! 



AXD IIEK niKCIOUS LITG. 281 

Anon came Lady K., witli her lace 
Quite made up to act with orace, 

But she cut the pert'onnance shorter ; 
For instead of ])acing stately and stiff, 
At the stare of tlie vulgar she took a nuff, 
And ran, full speed, into Church, as ii' 

To get married before her daughter. 

But Sir Jacob walk'd more slowly, and bow'd 
Kight and left to the gaping crowd, 

Wherever a glance was seizable ; 
For Sir Jacob thought he bow'd like a Guelph, 
And therefore bow'd to imp and elf. 
And would gladly have made a bow to him- 
self. 

Had such a boAv been feasible. 

And last — and not the least of the sight, 
Six " Handsome Fortunes," all in white, 
Came to help in the marriage rite, — 

And rehearse their own hymeneals ; 
And then the bi-ight procession to close 
They were followed by just as many Beaux 

Quite fine enough for Ideals. 

Glittering men, and splendid dames, 
Thus they enter'd the porch of St. »James', 

Pursued by a thunder of laughter; 
For the Beadle was forced to intervene, 
For Jim the Crow, and liis Mayday Queen, 
With her gilded ladle, and Jack i' the Green, 

Would fain have folio w'd after I 

Beadle-like, he hush'd the shout; 

But the tem])le was full " inside and out," 

And a buzz kept buzzing all round about 

Like bees Avhen the day is sunny— 
A buzz universal that interfered 
With the rite that ought to have been revered, 



282 MISS KILMANSEGG 

As if the couple already were smear'd 
With Wedlock's treacle and honey ! 

Yet Wedlock's a very awful thing ! 
*Tis something like that feat in the ring 
Which requires good nerve to do it — 
When one of a " Grand Equestrian Troop " 
Makes a jump at a gilded hoop, 
Not certain at all 
Of what may befall 
After his getting through it ! 

But the Count he felt the nervous work 
No more than any polygamous Turk, 

Or bold piratical skipper, 
Who, during his buccaneering search, 
Would as soon engage " a hand " in church 

As a hand on board his clipper ! 

And how did the Bride perform her part ? 
Like any Bride who is cold at heart, 

Mere snow with the ice's glitter ; 
What but a life of winter for her ! 
Bright but chilly, alive without stir. 
So splendidly comfortless, — just like a Fir 

When the frost is severe and bitter. 

Such were the future man and wife ! 
Whose bale or bliss to the end of life 
A few short words were to settle — 
Wilt thou have this woman ? 

I will — and then, 
Wilt thou have this man ? 

I will, and Amen — [ken, 

And those Two were one Flesh, in the Angels* 
Except one Leg — that was metal. 

Then the names were sign'd — and kiss'd the kiss : 
And the Bride, who came from her coach a Miss, 



AND HKU riiECIOUS LEG. 283 

As a Countess walk'd to her carriage — 
Whilst Hymen preen'd his plumes like a dove, 
And Cupid llutter'd his wings above, 
In the shape of a fly — as little a Love 

As ever look'd in at a marriage ! 

Another crash — and away they dash'd, 
And the gilded carriage and footmen flash 1 

From the eyes of the gaping people — 
Who turn'd to gaze at the toe-and-heel 
Of the Golden Boys beginninf^a reel, 
To the merry sound of a weddmg-peal 

From St. James's musical steeple. 

Those wedding-bells ! those wedding-bells ! 
How sweetly they sound in pastoral dells 

From a tow'r in an ivy-green jacket ! 
But town-made joys how dearly they cost ; 
And after all are tumbled and tost. 
Like a peal from a London steeple, and lost 

In town-made riot and racket. 

The wedding-peal, how sweetly it peals 
With grass or heather beneath our heels, — 

For bells are Music's laughter ! — 
But a London peal, well mingled, be sure, 
With vulgar noises and voices impure. 
What a harsh and discordant overture 

To the Harmony meant to come after ! 

But hence with Discord — perchance, too soon 
To cloud the face of the honeymoon 

With a dismal occultation ! — 
Whatever Fate's concerted trick, 
The Countess and Count, at the present nick, 
Have a chicken and not a crow to pick 

At a sumptuous Cold Collation. 

A Breakfast — no unsubstantial mess. 
But one m the style of Good Queen Bess, 



2^4 MISS KILMANSEGG 

Who, — hearty as hippocampus, — 
Broke her fast with ale and beef. 
Instead of toast and the Chinese leaf, 

And in lieu of anchovy — gi'ampus ! 

A breakfast of fowl, and fish, and flesh, 
Whatever was sweet, or salt, or fresh ; 

With wines the most rare and curious — ■ 
Wines, of the richest flavour and hue ; 
With fruits from the worlds both Old and 

New; 
And finaits obtain'd before they were due 

At a discount most usurious. 

For wealthy palates there be, that scout 
What is in season, for what is out, 

And prefer all precocious savour : 
For instance, early green peas, of the sort 
That costs some four or five guineas a quart; 

Where the Mint is the principal flavour. 

And many a wealthy man was there, 
Such as the wealthy City could spare, 

To put in a portly appearance — 
Men whom their fathers had help'd to gild ; 
And men who had had their fortunes to build 
And — much to their credit — had richly fiU'd 

Their purses by pursy-verance. 

Men, by popular rumour at least. 
Not the last to enjoy a feast ! 

And truly they were not idle ! 
Luckier far than the chestnut tits. 
Which, down at the door, stood champing their 
bits. 

At a diiferent sort of bridle. 

For the time was come — and the whisker'd 

Count 
Help'd his Bride in the carriage to mount, 



AND HEU PRECIOUS LEG. 285 

And fain would the Muse deny It, 
But the crowd, includ'nu: two butchers in blue, 
(The reouhir kiUing Whitechapel hue,) 
Of her Precious Calf had as ample a view, 

As if they had come to buy it ! 

Then away ! away ! with all the speed 
That fjolden spurs can give to the steed, — 
Both Yellow Boys and Guineas, indeed, 

Concurr'd to urge the cattle — 
Away they went, with favours Avhite, 
Yellow jackets, and pannels bright, 
And left the mob, like a mob at night, 

Agape at the sound of a rattle. 

Away ! away ! they rattled and roU'd, 

The Count, and his Bride, and her Leg of Gold — • 

That faded charm to the charmer ! 
Away, — through Old Brentford rang the din. 
Of wheels and heels, on their way to win 
That hill, named after one of her kin, 

The Hill of the Golden Farmer ! 

Gold, still gold— it flew like dust ! 

It tipp'd the post-boy, and paid the trust; 

In each open palm it was freely thrust ; 

There was nothing but giving and taking I 
And it' gold could ensure the future hour. 
What hopes attended that Bride to her bow'r, 
But alas ! even hearts with a four-horse pow'r 

Of opulence end in breaking ! 



The moon — the moon, so silver and cold. 
Her fickle temper has oft been told. 

Now shady — now bright and sunny — 
But of all the lunar things that change, 
The one that shows most fickle and strange, 



286 iMISS KILMANSEGG 

And takes tlie most eccentric range 
Is the moon — so call'd of honey 1 

To some a full-grown orb reveal'd, 
As big and as round as Norval's shield, 

And as bright as a burner Bude-lighted. 
To others as dull, and dingy, and damp, 
As any oleaginous lamp, 
Of the regular old parochial stamp, 

In a London fog benighted. 

To the loving, a bright and constant sphere 
That makes earth's commonest scenes appear 

All poetic, romantic, and tender : 
Hanging with jewels a cabbage-stump. 
And investing a common post, or a pump, 
A currant-bush, or a gooseberry clump. 

With a halo of dreamlike splendour. 

A sphere such as shone from Italian skies, 
In Juliet's dear, dark, hquid eyes. 

Tipping trees with its argent braveries — 
And to couples not favour'd with Fortune's 

boons 
One of the most delightful of moons. 
For it brightens their pewter platters and spoons 

Like a silver service of Savory's 1 

For all Is bright, and beauteous, and clear, 
And the meanest thing most precious and dear, 

When the magic of love is present : 
Love, that lends a sweetness and grace 
To the humblest spot and the plainest face — 
That turns Wilderness Row into Paradise Place 

And Garhck Hill to Mount Pleasant 1 

Love that sweetens sugarless tea. 
And makes contentment and joy agree 
With the coarsest boardiuii; and bedding : 



AXD HER PRECIOUS LEG. 2S'i 

Love that no golden ties can attach, 
But nestles under the humblest thatch. 
And will fly away from an Emperor's match 
To dance at a Penny AVedding ! 

Oh, happy, happy, thrice happy state, 
When such a bright Planet governs tiie fate 

Of a pair of united lovers ! 
*Tis theirs, in spite of the Serpent's hiss, 
To enjoy the pure primeval kiss. 
With as much of the old original bliss 
As mortality ever reco\ ers ! 

There's strength in double joints, no doubt, 

In double X Ale, and Dublin Stout, 

That the single sorts know nothing about — 

And a fist is strongest when doubled — 
And double aqua-fortis, of course, 
And double soda-water, perforce. 

Are the strongest that ever bubbled ! 

There's double beauty whenever a Swan 
Swims on a Lake, with her double thereon ; 
And ask the gardener, Luke or eTohn, 

Of the beauty of double-blowing — • 
A double dahlia dehghts the eye ; 
And it's far the loveliest sight in the sky 

When a double rainbow is glowing! 

There's warmth in a pair of double soles ; 
As well as a double allowance of coals — 

In a coat that is double-breasted — 
In double windows and double doors ; 
And a double U wind is blest by scores 

For its warmth to the tender-chested. 

There's twofold sweetness in double ])ipes ; 
And a double barrel and double snipes 
Give the sportsman a duplicate pleasure . 



*288 MISS KILMANSEGG 

There's double safety In double locks , 
And double letters bring cash for the box ; 
And all the world knows that double knocks 
Are gentility's double measure. 

There's a double sweetness in double rhymes, 
And a double at Whist, and a double Times 

In profit are certainly double — 
By doubling, the Hare contrives to escape: 
And all seamen delight in a doubled Cape, 

And a double-reef'd topsail in trouble. 

There's a double chuck at a double chin. 

And of course there's a double pleasure therein. 

If the parties are brought to telling : 
And however our Dennises take offence, 
A double meaning shows double sense ; 
And if proverbs tell truth, 
A double tooth 
Is Wisdom's adopted dwelling ! 

But double wisdom, and pleasure, and sense, 
Beauty, respect, strength, comfort, and thence 

Through whatever the list discovers. 
They are all in the double blessedness summ'd, 
Of what was formerly double-drumm'd, 

The Marriage of two true Lovers ! 

Now the Kilmansegg Moon — it must be told — 
Though instead of silver it tipp'd with gold — 
Shone rather wan, and distant, and cold, 

And before its days were at thirty, 
Such gloomy clouds began to collect, 
With an ominous ring of ill effect. 
As gave but too much cause to expect 

Such weather as seamen call dirty ! 

And yet the moon was the " Young May Moon, 
And the scented hawthorn had blossom'd soon, 



AND rTE]{ PRECIOUS LEG. 289 

And the thrush and the blackbird were siniring — 
The snow-white hnnbs were slvij)[)inir in play, 
And the bee was huinniing a tune all day 
To flowers as wek-ome as flowers in May, 
And the trout in the stream was sprinfrincr ! 

But what were the hues of the blooming earth, 
Its scents — its sounds — or the music and mirth 

Or its f'urr'd or its feather'd ci-eatures, 
To a Pair in the world's last sordid stage, 
Who had never look'd into Nature's page. 
And had strange ideas of a Golden Age, 
any 



Without any Arcadian features? 



And what were joys of the pastoral kind 

To a Bride — town-made — with a heart and mind 

With simplicity ever at battle V 
A bride of an ostentatious race, 
Who, thrown in the Golden Farmer's place, 
Would have trimm'd her shepherds with golden 
lace, 

And gilt the horns of her cattle. 

She could not please the pigs with her whim, 
And the shcej) wouldn't cast their eyes at a 
limb 
For which sha had been such a martyr : 
The deer in the park, and the colts at grass, 
And the coavs unheeded let It pass ; 
And tlie ass on the common was such an ass, 
That he wouldn't have swapp'd 
The thistle he cropp'd 
For her Leg, including the Garter ! 

She hated lanes, and she hated fields — 
She hated all that the country yields — 

And l)ari,'ly knew turnips fVr)ui clovei ; 
She hated widking in any shape, 
An.' a country stile wa- an awkward s-rapo, 
VOL. I. lU 



290 MISS KILMANSEGG 

Without the bribe of a mob to gape 
At the Leg in clambering over ! 

O blessed natm-e, " O rus ! O rus! " 
Who cannot sigh for the country thus, 

Absorb'd in a worldly torpor — 
Who does not yearn for its meadow-sweet breath, 
Untainted by care, and crime, and death, 
And to stand sometimes upon grass or heath — 

That soul, spite of gold, is a pauper I 

But to hail the pearly advent of morn, 
And relish the odour fresh from the thorn. 

She was far too pamper'd a madam — 
Or to joy in the daylight waxing strong, 
While, after ages of sorrow and wrong. 
The scorn of the proud, the misrule of the strong, 
And all the woes that to man belong. 
The lark still carols the self-same song 
> That he did to the uncurst Adam ! 

The Lark ! she had given all Leipsic's flocks 
For a Vauxhall tune in a musical box ; 

And as for the birds in the thicket, 
Thrush or ousel in leafy niche. 
The linnet or finch, she was far too rich 
To care for a Morning Concert to which 

She was welcome without any ticket. 

Go!d, still gold her standard of old. 
All pastoral joys were tried by gold. 

Or by fancies golden and crural — 
Till ere she had pass'd one week unblest, 
As her agricultural Uncle's guest, 
Her mind was made up and fully imprest 

That felicity could not be rural ! 

And the Count ? — to the snow-white lambs at 

,Uv, 
And ciU the scents anu the sights of May, 



AND IIEK PRECIOUS LEG. 21)1 

And the birds that warbled their passion, 
His ears, and dark eyes, and decided nose. 
Were as deaf" and as blind and as dull as those 
That overlook the Bouquet de Rose, 
The Huile Antique, 
And Parfum Unique, 
In a Barber's Temple of Fashion, 

To tell, indeed, the true extent 
Of his rural bias so far it went 

As to covet estates in ring fences — 
And for rural lore he had learn'd in town 
That the country was green, turn'd up with brown. 
And garnish'd with trees that a man might cut 
down 

Instead of his own expenses. 

And yet had that fault been his only one. 
The Pair might have had few quarrels or none, 

For their tastes thus far were in common ; 
But faults he had that a haughty bride 
3Vith a Golden Leg could hardly abide — 
Faults that would even have roused the pride 

Of a far less metalsome woman ! 

It was early days indeed for a wife. 
In the very spring of her married life, 

To be chill'd by its wintry weather — 
But instead of sitting as Love-Birds do, 
Or Hymen's turtles that bill and coo — 
Enjoying their " moon and honey for two," 

They were scarcely seen together! 

In vain she sat with her Precious Leg 
A little exposed a la Kilmansegg, 

And roU'd her eyes in their sockets! 
He left her in spite of her tender regards, 
And those loving murmurs describiMl by bards, 
For the rattling of di e and the shuHiing of cards, 

And the poking of l)alls into po.-kets ! 



202 MISS KILMANSEGG 

Moreover, he loved the deepest stake 

And the heaviest bets the players would make ; 

And he drank — the reverse of sparely, — 
And he used strange curses that made her fret ; 
And when he play'd with herself at piquet, 
She found, to her cost, 
For she always lost, 
That the Count did not count quite fairly. 

And then came dark mistrust and doubt, 
Gather'd by worming his secrets out. 

And slips in his conversations — 
Fears, which all her peace destroy'd. 
That his title was null — his coffers were void — 
And his French Chateau was in SjDain, or enjoy'd 

The most airy of situations. 

But still his heart — if he had such a part — • 
She — only she — might possess his heart, 

And hold his affections in fetters — 
Alas ! that hope, like a crazy ship, 
Was forced its anchor and cable to slip 
When, seduced by her fears, she took a dip 

In his private papers and letters. 

Letters that told of dangerous leagues ; 
And notes that hinted as many intrigues 

As the Count's in the " Barber of Seville " — 
In short such mysteries came to light. 
That the Countess-Bride, on the thirtieth night. 
Woke and started up in affright. 
And kick'd and scream'd with all her might. 
And finally fainted away outright, 

For she dreamt she had married the Devil I 



Who hath not met with home-made bread, 
A heavy compound of putty and lead — 



AXD HER i-UKCJOUS LEG. rlJi 

And home-made wines tliat raek tl)e head, 

A nd home-aiade li(|ueurs and waters V 
Home-made pop that will not foam, 
Ami home-made dishes that drive one Irom 
home, 
Not to name each mess, 
For the face or dress, 
Home-made by the liomely daughters ? 

Home-made y)hysic, that sickens the sick ; 
Thick for thin and thin for thick ; — 
In short each homoireneous trick 

For poisonino- domesticity ? 
And since our Parents, call'd the First, 
A little family squabble nurst, 
Of all our evils the worst of the worst 

Is home-made infelicity. 

There's a Golden Bird that claps its wijiijs, 
And dances for joy on its perch, and sings 

With a Persian exultation : 
For the Sun is shining into the room, 
And brightens up the carpet-bloom, 
As if it were new, bran new from the loom, 

Or the lone Xun's tabrication. 

And thence the glorious radiance flames 
On pictures in massy gilded frames — 
Enshrining, however, no painted Dames, 

But portraits of colts and fillies — 
Pictures hanging on walls wdiich shine, 
In spite of the bard's familiar line, 

With clusters of " gilded lilies." 

And still the flooding sunlight shares 
Its lustre with gilded solas and chairs, 
That shine as if freshly burnish'd — 
And gilded tables, with glittermg stocks 
Of gilded china, and golden clocks, 



294 MISS KILMAXSEGG 

Toy, and trinket, and musical box, 
That Peace and Paris have furnish'd. 

And lo ! with the brightest gleam of all 
The glowing sunbeam is seen to fall 

On an object as rare as splendid — ■ 
The golden foot of the Golden Leg 

Of the Countess — once Miss Kilmansegg — 
But there all sunshine is ended. 

Pier cheek is pale, and her eye is dim, 
And downward cast, yet not at the limb, 

Once the centre of all speculation ; 
But downward drooping in comfort's dearth, 
As gloomy thoughts are drawn to the earth - 
Whence human sorrows derive their birth— 

By a moral gravitation. 

Her golden hair is out of its braids, 
And her sighs betray the gloomy shades 

That her evil planet revolves in — 
And tears are falling that catch a gleam 
So bright as they drop in the sunny beam, 
That tears of aqua regia they seem. 

The water that gold dissolves in I n 

Yet, not in filial grief were shed 

Those tears for a mother's insanity ; 
Nor yet because her father was dead, 
For the bowing Sir Jacob had bow'd his head, 

To Death — with his usual urbanity; 
The waters that down her visage rill'd 
Were drops of un rectified spirit distill'd 
From the limbec of Pride and Vanity. 

Tears that fell alone and uncheckl, 
Without relief, and without respect, 
Like the fabled pearls that the pigs neglect, 
When pigs have that opportunity — 



AND HKK ruiXIUUS LEG. 2'.l,) 

And of all the griefs that mortals share, 
The one that seems the hardest to bear 
Is the grief without eounnunity. 

IIow bless'd the heart that has a friend 
A sympathizing!; ear to lend 

To troubles too j^reat to smother ! 
For as ale and porter, when Hat, are restored 
Till a sparklinLT bubbling head they afford, 
So sorrow is eheer'd by being pour'd 

From one vessel into another. 

But friend or gossip she had not one 

To hear the vile deeds that the Count had done, 

How night after night he rambled ; 
And how she had learn'd by sad degrees 
That he drank, and smoked, and worse than these, 

That he '' swindled, intrigued, and gambled." 

How he kiss'd the maids, and sparr'd with John 
And came to bed with his garments on ; 

With other oflences as heinous — 
And brought strange gentlemen home to dine, 
That he said were in the Fancy Line, 
And they fmcied spirits instead of wine, 

And call'd her lap-dog '' Wenus ! " 

Of " making a book" how he made a stir, 
But never had written a line to her, 

Once his idol and Cara Sjwsa: 
And how he had stonn'd, and treated her ill, 
Because she refused to go down to a mill, 
She didn't know where, but remember'd still 

That the jMiller's name was Mendoza. 

How often he waked her up at nigdit. 
And ofiener still by the morning ligiit, 

Reeling home from his haunts unlawful; 
Singing songs that shouldn't be sung. 



296 MISS KILMANSEGG 

Except by beggars and tbieves unbung — 
Or volleying oaths, tbat a foreign tongue 
Made still more borrid and awful ! 

How oft, instead of otto of rose,' 

Witb vulgar smells be offended ber nose. 

From gin, tobacco, and onion ! 
And tben bow wildly be used to stare ! 
And shake bis fist at nothing, and swear, — 
And pluck by the handful his shaggy hair, 
Till, he look'd like a study of Giant Despair 

For a new Edition of Bunyan ! 

For dice will run the conti-ary way, 
As well is known to all who play, 

And cards will conspire as in treason . 
And what witb keeping a bunting box, 

Following fox — 

Friends in flocks, 

Burgundies, Hocks, 

From London Docks ; 

Stultz's frocks, 

Manton and Nock's 

Barrels and locks. 

Shooting blue rocks, 

Trainers and jocks, 

Buskins and socks, 

Pugilistical knocks, 

And fighting-cocks, 
If be found himself short in funds and stocks, 
These rhymes will furnish the reason ! 

His friends, indeed, "were falling away — 
Friends who insist on play or pay — 
And be fear'd at no very distant day 

To be cut by Lord and by cadger. 
As one who was gone or going to smash, 
For bis checks no longer drew the cash. 
Because, as his comrades explain'd in flash, 

" He had overdrawn bis badger." 



AND HER PKKCIOUS LEG. 207 

Gold, gold — alas ! for the eold 

Spent where souls are bo-iglit and sold, 

In Vice's Walpuruls revel ! 
Alas ! for muffles, and bulldogs, and guns, 
The leg that walks, and the leg that runs, 
All real evils, though Fancy ones, 
When they lead to debt, dishonour, and duns, 

Nay, to death, and perehanee the devil ! 

Alas ! for the last of a Golden race ! 

Had she cried her wrongs in the markei:-i)lace, 

She had warrant for all her clamour — 
For the worst of rogues, and brutes, and rakes, 
Was breaking her heart by constant aches. 
With as little remorse as the Pauper who breaks 

A flint with a parish hammer ! 



?i5ft Hast 2:<!tM'll. 

Now the Precious Leg while cash was flush, 
Or the Count's acceptance worth a rusk, 

Had never excited dissension ; 
But no sooner the stocks began to fall. 
Than, without any ossification at all. 
The limb became what people call 

A perfect bone of contention. 

For alter'd days brought alter'd ways. 
And instead of the complimentary phrase. 

So current before her bridal — 
The Countess heard, in language low. 
That her Precious Leg was piecious slow, 
A good 'un to look at but bad to go. 

And kept quite a sum lying idle. 

That instead of playing musical airs, 
Like Colin's foot in going up-stau's — 
As the wife in the Scottish ballad declares — 
It made an infernal stumping. 



20 S MISS KILMANSEGG 

Whereas a member of cork, or wood, 
Would be lighter and cheaper and quite as good, 
Without the unbearable thumping. 

P'rhaps she thouo;ht it a decent thing 
To show her calf to cobbler and king, 

But nothing could be absurder — 
While none but the crazy would advertise 
Their gold before their servants' eyes. 
Who of course some night would make it a prize. 

By a Shocking and Barbarous Murder. 

But spite of hint, and threat, and scoff, 

The Leg kept its situation : 
For legs are not to be taken off 

By a verbal amputation. 
And mortals when they take a whim, 
The greater the folly the stiffer the limb 

That stands upon it or by it — 
So the Countess, then Miss Kilmansegg, 
At her marriage refused to stir a peg, 
Till the Lawyers had fasten'd on her Leg, 

As fast as the Law could tie it. 

Firmly then — and more firmly yet — 

With scorn for scorn, and with threat for threatj 

The Proud One confronted the Cruel : 
And loud and bitter the quarrel arose, 
Fierce and merciless — one of those, 
With spoken daggers, and looks hke blows, 

In all but the bloodshed a duel ! 

Rash, and wild, and wretched, and wrong, 
Were the words that came from Weak and 
Strong, 
Till madden'd for desperate matters, 
Fierce as tigress escaped from her den, 
She flew to her desk — 'twas open'd — and then, 
In the time it takes to try a pen, 



AND HEll IKECIOUS LEG. 299 

Or the clerk to utter his slow Amen. 
Her Will Avas in fifty tatters ! 

But the Count, instead of curses wild, 
Only nodded his head and smiled, 
As if at the sj)leen of an angry cdiihl ; 

But the calm was deceitfid and sinister ! 
A lull like the lull of the treai-herous sea — 
For Hate in that moment had sworn to be 
The Golden Leg's sole Legatee, 

And that very night to administer ! 

%}n BeatI). 
'Tis a stern and startling thing to think 
How often mortality stands on the brink 

Of its grave without any misgiving : 
And yet in this slippery world of strife, 
In the stir of human bustle so rife, ) 

There are daily sounds to tell us that Life 

Is dying, and Death is living ! 

Ay, Beauty the Girl, and Love the Boy, 
Bright as they are with hope and joy, 

How their souls would sadden instanter. 
To remember that one of those wedding bells. 
Which ring so merrily through the dells. 
Is the same that knells 
Our last farewells. 
Only broken into a canter ! 

But breath and blood set doom at nought — 
How little the wretched Countess thought. 
When at night she unloosed her sandal, 
That the Fate^s had woven her burial-cloth, 
And that Death in the shape of a Death's Head 
Was fluttering round her candle ! [Moth, 

As she look'd at her clo.-k of or-molu, 

For the hours she had gone so wearily through 



300 MISS KILMANSEGG 

At the end of a day of trial — 
How little she saw in her pride of prime 
The dart of Death in the Hand of Time — 

That hand which moved on the dial ! 

As she went with her taper up the stair, 
How little her swollen eye was aware 

That the Shadow which follow'd was double I 
Or when she closed her chamber door, 
It was shutting out, and for evermore, 

The world — and its worldly trouole. 

Little she dreamt, as she laid aside • 
Her jewels — after one glance of pride — 

They were solemn bequests to Vanity — 
Or when her robes she began to doff, 
That she stood so near to the putting off 

Of the flesh that clothes humanity. 

And when she quench'd the taper's light, 
How little she thought as the smoke took flight, 
That her day was done — and merged m a 
night 
Oi' dreams and diii^ation uncertain — ■ 
Or, along with her own, 
That a Hand of Bone 
Was closing mortality's curtain I 

But life is sweet, and mortality blind. 
And youth is hopeful, and Fate is kind 
In concealing the day of sorrow ; 
^ And enough is the present tense of toil — 

For this world is, to all, a stiffish soil— 
And the mind flies back with a glad recoil 
From the debts not due till to-morrow. 

Wherefore else does the spirit fly 

And bid its daily cares good-bye, 

Along with its daily clothing. 



AND IIEH PRFXIOUS LEG. 801 

Just as tlie felon condomn'd to die — 

Wirli a very natural loathing — 
l^eavino; the Sherill' to dream of ropes, 
Fi'oui his gloomy cell in a vision elopes, 
To caper on sunny greens and slopes, 

luitead of the dance upon nothing. 

Thus, even thus, the Countess slept. 
While Death still nearer and nearer crept. 

Like the Thane who smote the sleeping — 
But her mind was busy with early joys, 
Her golden treasures and golden toys, 
Tliat flash'd a bright 
And golden light" 
Under lids still red with Aveeping. 

The golden doll that she used to hug ! 
Her coral of gold, and the golden nmg ! 

Her godfather's golden presents ! 
The golden service she had at her meals, 
The golden watch, and chain, and seals. 
Her golden scissors, and thread, and reels, 

And her golden fishes and pheasants ! 

The golden guineas in silken purse — 
And the Golden Legends she heard from her 
nurse. 
Of the Mayor in his gilded carriage — 
And I^ondon streets that were ])aved with gold— 
And the Golden Eggs that were laid of old — 
With each golden thing 
To the golden ring 
At her own auriferous Marriage 1 

And still the golden light of the sim 
Through her golden dream appeai-'d to run, 
Though the night that roar'd without was one 

To tei-iify seamen or gypsit's — 
While the moon, its if in malicious mii-th 



302 MISS KILMANSEGG 

Kept peeping down at the ruffled earth, 
As though she enjoy 'd the tempest's birth, 
In revenge of her old eclipses.' 

But vainly, vainly, the thunder fell, 

For the soul of the Sleeper was under a spell 

That time had lately erabitter'd — 
The Count, as once at her foot he knelt — 
That foot which now he wanted to melt ! 
But— hush! — 'twas a stir at her pillow she 
felt— 

And some object before her glitter'd. 

'Twas the Golden Leg ! — she knew its gleam I 
And up she started, and tried to scream, — 

But ev'n in the moment she started — 
Down came the limb with a frightful smash, 
And, lost in the universal flash 
That her eyeballs made at so mortal a crash, 

The Spark, call'd Vital, departed ! 
* * * * 

Gold, still gold ! hard, yellow, and cold, 

For gold she had lived, and she died for gold — 

By a golden weapon — not oaken ; 
In the morning they found her all alone — 
Stiff", and bloody, and cold as stone — 
But her Leg, the Golden Leg, was gone, 

And the " Golden Bowl was broken !" 

Gold — still gold ! it haunted her yet — 
At the Golden Lion the Inquest met — 

Its foreman, a carver and gilder — 
And the Jury debated from twelve till three 
What the Verdict ought to be, 
And they brought it in as Felo-de-Se, 

" Because her own Leg had kill'd her ! " 



A TALE OF A TRUMPliT. :?03 

n}£v i^toral. 

Gold ! Gold ! Gold ! Gold ! 
Brioht and yellow, hard and cold, 
Molten, graven, hammer'd and roll'd; 
Heavy to get, and light to hold ; 
Hoarded, bartered, bought, and sold, 
Stolen, borrow'd, S(|uander'd, doled: 
Spurn'd by the young, but hugg'd by the old 
To the very verge of the chureliyard mould; 
Price of many a crime untold; 
Gold! Gold!*Gold! Gold! 
Good or bad a thousand-fold! 

How widely its agencies vary — 
To save — to ruin — to curse — to bless — 
As even its minted coins express, 
Now stamp'd with the image of Good Queen 
Bess, 

And now of a Bloody Mary. 



A TALE OF A TRUMPET. 

" Old woman, old woman, wi'l t ou go a-shearing ? 
Speak a little louder, for I'm very hard of hearing." 

Old Ballad. 

Of all old women hard of hearing, 

The deafest, sure, was Dame Eilemor Spearing! 

On her head, it is true, 

Two flaps there grew, 
Tliat served for a pair of gold rings to go through ; 
But for any purpose of ears in a parley, 
They heard no more than ears of barley. 

No hint was needud from D. E. F. 

You saw in her face that the woman wa.« deaf: 

From her twisted mouth to her eyes so ])eery, 



304 A TALE OF A TRUMPET. 

Each queer feature ask'd a query ; 

A look that said in a silent way, 

" Who ? and What ? and How ? and Eh ? 

I'd oive my ears to know what you say!" 

And well she might ! for each auineular 

Was deaf as a y)ost — and that post in particular 

That stands at the corner of Dyott Street now, 

And never hears a word of a row ! 

Ears that might serve her now and then 

As extempore racks for an idle pen ; 

Or to hang with hoops from jewellers' shops 

With coral, ruby, or garnet drops ; 

Or, provided the owner so inclined, 

Ears to stick a blister behind; 

But as for hearing wisdom or wit, 

Falsehood, or folly, or tell-tale-tit, 

Or politics, whether of Fox or Pitt, 

Sermon, lecture, or musical bit. 

Harp, piano, fiddle, or kit, 

They might as well, for any such wish. 

Have been butter'd, done brown, and laid in a 

dish ! 
She was deaf as a post, — as said before — 
And as deaf as twenty similes more. 
Including the adder, that deafest of snakes, 
Which never hears the coil it makes. 

She was deaf as a house — which modern tricks 
Of language would call as deaf as bricks-^ 
For her all human kind were dumb. 
Her drum, indeed, was so muffled a drum, 
That none could get a sound to come. 
Unless the Devil who had Two Sticks ! 
She was deaf as a stone — say one of the stones 
Demosthenes suck'd to improve his tones ; 
And surely deafness no further could reach 
Than to be in his mouth without hearing hif> 
speech ! ; 



A TALE OF A TRUMPKT. OOj 

Sbe was rleaf as a nut — for nuts, no doubt, 

Are deaf to the grub that's hollowing out — 

As deaf, alas ! as the dead and forgotten — 

(Gray has noticed the waste of breath. 

In addressing the " dull, cold ear of death,") 

Or the Felon's ear that was stuff 'd with Cotton — 

Or Charles the First, m statue quo ; 

Or the still-born figures of Madame Tussaud, 

With their eyes of glass, and their hair of flax, 

That only stare whatever you " ax," 

For their ears, you know, are nothing but wax. 

She was deaf as the ducks that swam in the pond. 

And wouldn't listen to Mrs. Bond, — 

As deaf as any Frenchman appears, 

"When he puts his shoulders into his ears: 

And — whatever the citizen tells his son — 

As deaf as Gog and Magog at one 1 

Or, still to be a simile-seeker. 

As deaf as dog's-ears to Enfield's Speaker ! 

She was deaf as any tradesman's dummy, 
Or as Pharaoh's mother's mother's mummy ; 
Whose organs, for fear of our modern sceptics, 
Were plugg'd with gums and antiseptics. 

She was deaf as a nail— that you cannot hammer 
A meaning into, for all your clamour — 
There nev'er was such a deaf old Gammer ! 

So formed to worry 

Both Lindley and Murray, 
By having no ear for Music or Grammar ! 

Deaf to sounds, as a ship out of soundings, 
Deaf to verbs, and all their compoundings, 
Adjective, noun, and adverb, and particle, 
Deaf to even the definite article- 
No verbal message was worth a pin, 
Though you hired an earwig to f;arry it in 1 
VOL. I. 20 



806 A TALE OF A TRUMPET. 

In short, she was twice as deaf as Deaf Burke, 
Or all the deafness in Yearsley's Work, 
Who in spite of his skill in hardness of hearing, 
Boring, blasting, and pioneering. 
To give the dunny organ a clearing, 
Could never have cured Dame Eleanor Spearing 

Of course the loss was a great privation, 

For one of her sex — whatever her station — 

And none the less that the Dame had a turn 

For making all families one concern. 

And learning whatever there was to learn 

In the prattling,.tattling village of Tringham — 

As who wore silk ? and who wore gingham ? 

And what the Atkins's shop might bring 'em ? 

How the Smiths contrived to live ? and whether 

The fourteen Murphys all pigg'd together ? 

The wages per week of the Weavers and Skinners, 

And what they boil'd for their Sunday dinners ? 

What plates the Bugsbys had on the shelf, 

Crockery, china, wooden, or delf ? 

And if the parlour of Mrs. O'Grady 

Had a wicked French print, or Death and the 

Lady ? 
Did Snip and his wife continue to jangle? 
Had Mrs Wilkinson sold her mangle '? 
What liquor was drunk by Jones and Brown? 
And the weekly score they ran up at the Crown ? 
If the Cobbler could read, and believed in the 

Pope ? 
And how the Grnbbs were off for soap ? 
If the Snobbs liad furnish'd their room up stairs, 
And how they managed for tables and chairs, 
Beds, and otiier household affairs, 
Iron, wooden, and Staffordshire wares; . 

And if they could muster a whole pair of bellows 1 
In fact she had nuich of the spirit that lies 
Perdu in ;> notable set of Paul Piys, 

By courtesy callM Statistical Fellows — ■ 



A TALE OF A TRUMPET. 307 

A prying, spying, inquisitive clan, 

Who had gone upon much of the self-same plan, 

Jotting the Labouring Class's riches ; 
And after poking in pot and pan, 

And routing garments in want of stitches, 
Have ascertain'd that a working man 

Wears a pair and a quarter of average breeches 1 

But this, alas ! from her loss of hearing, 
Was all a seal'd book to Dame Eleanor Spearing ; 
And often her tears would rise to their founts — • 
Supposing a little scandal at plav 
'Twixt Mrs. O'Fie and Mrs. An' Fait— 

That she couldn't audit the Gossips' accounts. 
*Tis true, to her cottage still they came, 
And ate her muffins just the same. 
And drank the tea of the widow'd Dame, 
And never sAvallow'd a thimble the less 
Of something the Reader is left to guess, 
For all the deafness of Mrs. S., 
Who saw them talk, and chuckle, and cough, 
But to see and not share in the social flow, 
She might as well have lived you know, 
In one of the houses in Owen's Row, 
Near the New River Head, with its water cut off! 

And yet the almond-oil she had tried. 
And fifty infallible things beside, 
Hot, and cold, and thick, and thin, 
Dabb'd, and dribbled, and squirtc^l in : 
But all remedies fail'd ; and though some it Avas clear 
(Like the brandy and salt 
We now exalt) 
Had made a noise in the public ear. 
She was just as deaf as ever, poor dearl 

At last — one wry fine day in June — 
Suj)|)0st^ her sitting, 



BOS A TALE OF A TRUMPET. 

And humming she didn't quite know what tune *, 

For nothing she heard but a sort of a whizz, 
Which, unless the sound of a circulation, 
Or of thoughts in the process of fabrication, 
By a Spinning-Jennyish operation. 

It's hard to say what buzzing it is. 
However, except that ghost of a sound, 
. She sat in a silence most profound — 
The cat was purring about the mat, 
But her Mistress heard no more of that 
Than if it had been a boatswain's cat ; 
And as for the clock the moments nicking, 
The Dame only gave it ci^edit for ticking. 
The bark of her dog she did not catch; 
Nor yet the click of the lifted latch ; 
Nor yet the creak of the opening door ; 
Nor yet the fall of the foot on the floor — • 
But she saw the shadow that crept on her gown 
And turn'd its skirt of a darker brown. 

And lo ! a man ! a Pedlar ? ay, marry, 

AVith a little back-shop that such tradesmen carry, 

Stock'd with brooches, ribbons, and rings. 

Spectacles, razors, and other odd things, 

For lad and lass, as Autolycus sings; 

A chapman for goodness and cheapness of ware, 

Held a feir dealer enough at a fair, 

But deeni'd a piratical sort of invader 

By him we dub the " regular trader," 

AVho luring the passengers in as they pass 

By lamps, gay pannels, and mouldings of brass, 

And windows with only one huge pane of glass, 

And his name in gilt characters, German or Koman, 

If he isn't a Pedlar, at least is a Showman! 

However, in the stranger came. 

And, the moment he met the e}'es of the Dame, 

Threw her as knowing a nod as though 

He had known her fifty long years ago ; 



A TALE OF A TRUMPET. 309 

And presto ! before she could utter " Jack " — 
Much less '' Robinson " — open'd his pack — 

And then from amongst his portable gear, 
With even more than a Pedlar's tact, — 
(Slick himself might have envied the act) — 
Before she had time to be deaf, in fact, 

Popp'd a Trumpet into her ear. 

" There, Ma'am ! try it ! 
You needn't buy it — 
The last New Patent — and nothing comes nigh it 
For affording the Deaf, at little expense, 
The sense of hearing, and hearing of sense 1 
A Real Blessing — and no mistake, 
Invented for poor Humanity's sake ; 
For what can be a greater privation 
Than playing Dummy to all creation, 
And only looking at conversation — 
Great Philosophers talking like Platos, 
And jNIembers of Parliament moral as Catos, 
And your ears as dull as waxy potatoes ! 
Not to name the mischievous quizzers, 
Sharp as knives, but double as scizzors, 

)Vho get you to answer quite by guess 

i''es for No, and No for Yes." 

'" That's very true," says Dame Eleanor S.) 

' Try it again ! No harm in trying — 
I'm sure you 'II find it worth your buying, 
A little practice— that is all — 
And you '11 hear a whisper, however small. 
Through an Act of Parliament party- wall, — . 
Every syllable clear as day. 
And even what people are going to say — 
I wouldn't tell a lie, I wouldn't. 
But my trumpets have heard what Solomon's 
couldn't ; 
And as for Scott, he promises fine, 
But can he warrant his horns like mine 
Never to hear what a Lady shouldn't — 



310 A TALE OF A TRUMPET. 

Only a guinea — and can't take less." 

(" That's very dear," says Dame Eleanoi S.) 

" Dear ! — Oh dear, to call it dear ! 

Why it isn't a horn you buy, but an ear; 

Only think, and you*ll find on reflection [tion ; 

You're bargaining, Ma'am, for the Voice of Affec- 

For the language of Wisdom, and Virtue, and 

Truth, 
And the sweet little innocent prattle of youth : 
Not to mention the striking of clocks — 
Cackle of hens — crowing of cocks — 
Lowing of cow, and bull, and ox — 
Bleating of pretty pastoral flocks — 
Murmur of waterfall over the rocks— 
Every sound that Echo mocks — 
Vocals, fiddles, and musical-box — 
And zounds ! to call such a concert dear ! 
But I mustn't swear with my horn in your ear. 
Why, in buying that Trumpet you buy all those 
That Harper, or any trumpeter, blows 
At the Queen's Levees, or the Lord Mayor's Shows, 
At least as far as the music goes. 
Including the wonderful lively sound 
Of the Guards' key-bugles all the year round. 
Come — suppose we call it a pound ! 
Come," said the talkative Man of the Pack, 
" Before I put my box on my back. 
For this elegant, useful Conductor of Sound, 
Come — suppose we call it a pound ! 

" Only a pound ! it's only the price 
Of hearing a Concert once or twice. 

It's only the fee 

You might give Mr. C, 
And after all not hear his advice, 
But common prudence would bid yon stump it ; 

For, not to enlarge, 

It's the regular charge 



A TALE OF A TRUMPET. 311 

At a Fancy Fair for a penny trumpet. 
Lord! what's a pound to the blessinfr of heaj-lng ! " 
("A pound's a pound," said Dame Eleanor Spear- 
ing.) 

»* Try it again ! no harm in trying ! 

A })Ound's a pound there's no denying; 

But think what thousands and thousands of pounds 

We pay for nothing but hearing sounds ; 

Sounds of Ecpiity, Justice, and Law, 

Parliamentary jabber and jaw, 

Pious cant and moral saw. 

Hocus-pocus, and Nong-tong-paw, 

And empty sounds not worth a straw; 

Why it costs a guinea, as I 'm a sinner, 

To hear the sounds at a Public Dinner ! 

One pound one thrown into the ])uddle, 

To listen to Fiddle, Faddle, and Fuddle! 

Not to forget the sounds we buy 

From those who sell their sounds so high. 

That unless the Managers pitch it strong. 

To get a Signora to warble a song [prong. 

You must fork out the blunt with a haymaker's 

" It's not the thing for me — I know it — 
To crack my own Trumpet up and blow it; 
But it is the best, and time will show it. 

There was Mrs. F. 

So very deaf. 
That she might have worn a percussion-cap, [snap; 
And been knock'd on the head without hearing it 
Well, I sold her a horn, and the very next day 
She heard from her husband at Botany Bay ! 
Come — eighteen shillings — that's very low, 
You'll save the money as shillings go. 
And I never knew so bad a lot, 
By hearing whether they ring or not ! 
Eighteen shiUings ! it's worth the price. 
Supposing you're delicate-minded and nice, 



312 A TALE OP A TRUMPET. 

To have the medical man of your choice, 
Instead of the one with the strongest voice — 
Who comes and asks you how's your liver, 
And where you ache, and whether you shiver, 
And as to your nerves so apt to quiver. 
As if he was hailing a boat on the river! 
And then, with a shout, like Pat in a riot. 
Tells you to keep yourself perfectly quiet ! 

" Or a tradesman comes — as tradesmen will — 
Short and crusty about his bill, 

Of patience, indeed, a perfect "scorner, 
And because you're deaf and unable to pay, 
Shouts whatever he has to say, 
In a vulgar voice that goes over the way, 

Down the street and round the corner ! 
Come — speak your mind — it's ' No or Yes.' '" 
(" I've half a mind," said Dame Eleanor S.) 

" Try it again — no harm in trying, 

Of course you hear me, as easy as lying ; 

No pain at all, like a surgical trick, 

To make you squall, and struggle, and kick, 

Like Juno, or Rose, 

Whose ear undergoes 
Such horrid tugs at membrane and gristle, 
For being as deaf as yourself to a whistle ! 

" You may go to surgical chaps if you choose, 

Who will blow up your tubes like copper flues, 

Or cut your tonsils right away. 

As you'd shell out your almonds for Christmas-day 

And after all a matter of doubt. 

Whether you ever would hear the shout 

Of the little blackguards that bawl about, 

' There you go with your tonsils out ! ' 

Why, I knew a deaf Welshman who came from 
Glamorgan 
On purpose to try a surgical spell, 



A TALE OF A TRUMPET. 313 

And paid a p;uinea, and niiglit as well 

Have call'd a monkey into his organ! 
For the Aurlst only took a niuuf, 
And pour'd in his ear some acoustical drug. 
That instead of curing deafenM him rather, 
As Hamlet's uncle served Hamlet's father 1 
That's the way with your surgical gentry ! 
And happy your luck 
If you don't get stuck 
Through your liver and lights at a royal entry, 
Because you never answer'd the sentry ! 

" Try it again, dear Madam, try it ! 
Many would sell their beds to buy it. 
I warrant you often wake up iu the night, 
Ready to shake to a jelly with fright. 
And up you must get to strike a liglit, 
And down you go, in you know what, 
Whether the weather is (diilly or not, — ■ 
That's the way a cold is got, — 
To see if you heard a noise or not ! 

"Why, bless you, a woman with organs like yourb 
Is hardly safe to step out of doors ! 
Jusl. fancy a horse that comes full pelt, 
But as quiet as if he was ' shod with felt,' 
Till he rushes against you with all his three, 
And then I needn't des;.-ribe of course, 
AVhile he kicks you about without remorse, 
How awkward it is to be groom'd by a horse ! 
Or a bullock comes, as mad as King Lear, 
And you never dream that the brute is near, 
Till he pokes his horn r\<r\it into your ear. 
Whether you like the thing or lump it, — 
And all for want of buying a trumpet ! 

" I 'm not a female to fret and vex, 
But if I belong'd to the sensitive sex, 
Exposed to all sorts of indelieate sounds, 



314 A TALE OF A TRUMPET. 

I wouldn't be deaf for a thousand pounds. 

Lord ! only think of chucking a copper 
To Jack or Bob with a timber limb, 
Who looks as if he was singing a hymn, 

Instead of a song that's very improper ! 
Or just suppose in a public place 
You see a great fellow a-puUing a face, 
With his staring eyes and his mouth like an O, — 
And how is a poor deaf lady to know, — 
The lower orders are up to such games — 
If he's calling ' Green Peas,' or calling her names ? *' 
('' They're tenpence a peck ! " said the deafest of 
Dames.) 

" 'Tis strange what very strong advising, 

By word of mouth, or advertising. 

By chalking on walls, or placarding on vans, 

With fifty other different plans. 

The very high pressure, in fact, of pressing 

It needs to persuade one to purchase a blessing 1 

Whether the Soothing American Syrup, 

A safety Hat, or a Safety Stirrup, — 

Infalhble Pills for the human frame. 

Or Rowland's 0-don't-o (an ominous name !) 

A Doudney's suit which the shape so hits 

That it beats all others into Jits ; 

A Mechi's razor for beards unshorn, 

Or a Ghost-of-a- Whisper-Catching Horn 1 

*' Try it again. Ma'am, only try ! " 

W^as still the voluble Pedlar's cry ; 

" It's a great privation, there's no dispute, 

To live like the dumb unsociable brute, 

And to hear no more of the pro and con^ 

And how Society's going on. 

Than Mumbo Jumbo or Prester John, 

And all for want of this sine qua non ; 

Whereas, with a horn that never offends, 
You may join the genteelest party that is, 



A TALE OF A TRUMPET. 3 15 

And enjoy all the scand il, and gossip, and quiz, 
And be certain to hear of your absent friends ; — 

Not that eleguit hidies, in fiict, 

In genteel society ever detract, 

Or lenil a brusli when a friend is black'd, 

At least as a mere malicious act, — 

But only talk scandal for fear some fool 

Should think they were bred at cliarity school. 
Or, maybe, you like a little flirtation, 

"Which even the most Don Juanish rake 

Would surely object to undertake 

At the same high pitch as an altercation. 

It's not tor me, of course, to judge 

How much a Deaf Lady ought to begrudge ; 

But halt-a-guinea seems no great matter — 

Letting alone more rational patter — 

Only to hear a parrot chatter ; 

Not to mention that feather'd wit, 

The Starling, who speaks when his tongue is slit ; 

The Pies and Ja>'s that utter words, 

And other Dicky Gossips of birds, 

That talk with as much good ^ense and decorum 

As many Beak.< who belojig to the (pioruin. 

" Try it — buy it — say ten and six. 

The lowest price a miser could fix : 

I don't pretend with horns of mine, 

Like some in the advertising line, 

To ' magnify souivis ' on such marvellous scales, 

That the sounds of a cod seem as big as a whale's ; 

But popular rumours, right or wrong, — 

Charity Sermons, short or long, — 



sonir, 



o' 



Lecture, speech, concerto, or 

All noises and voices, feeble or strong. 

From the hum of a gnat to the clash of a gong. 

This tube will deliver distinct and clear; 

Or supi^osing by chance 

You wish to dance. 
Why, it's putting a Horn-pipe into your ear ! 



Cli > A TALE OF A TRUMPET. 

Try it— buy it ! 
Buy it— try it ! 
The last New Patent, and nothing comes nigli it, 

For guiding sounds to proper tunnel : 
Only try till the end of June, 
And if you and the trumpet are out of tune, 
I'll turn it gratis into a Funnel ! " 

In short the Pedlar so beset her, — 
Lord Bacon couldn't have gammon'd her better,— 
With flatteries plump and indirect. 
And plied his tongue with such effect, — 
A tongue that could almost have butter'd a crum- 
pet, — 

The deaf Old Woman bought the Trumpet. 

* * * 

* * * [ance, 
The Pedlar was gone. With the Horn's assist- 
She heard his steps die away in the distance ; 
And then she heard the tick of the clock, 

The purring of puss, and the snoring of Shock I 
And she purposely dropt a pin that was little, 
And heard it fall as plain as a skittle ! 

'Twas a wonderful Horn, to be but just ! 
Nor meant to gather dust, must, and rust : 
So in half a jilfy, or less than that. 
In her scarlet cloak and her steeple hat, 
Like old Dame Trot, but without her Cat, 
The Gossip was hunting all Tringham thorough, 
As if she meant to canvass the borough, 
Trumpet in hand, or up to the cavity : — 
And, sure, had the horn been one of those . 
The wild Rhinoceros wears on his nose, 
It couldn't have ripp'd up more depravity ! 

Depravity ! mercy shield her ears ! 
'Twas plain enough that her village peers 
In the ways of vice were no raw beginners; 



A TALE OF A TRUMPET. 317 

For whenever she raised the tube to her drum, 
Such sounds were transmitted as only come 

From the verj- Brass Band of human sinners ! 
Kibald jest and blasphemous curse 
(Bunyan never vented worse,) 
NVith all those weeds, not flowers, of speech 
Which the seven Dialecticians teach ; 
Filthy Conjunctions, and Dissolute Nouns, 
And Particles pick'd from the kennels of towns, 
With Ii regular Verbs for irregular jobs, 
Chiefly active in rows and mobs, 
Picking Possessive Pronouns' fobs 
And Inteijections as bad as a blight, 
Or an Eastern blast, to the blood and the sight ; 
Fanciful phrases for crime and sin, 
And smacking of vulgar lips where Gin, 
Gai'lic, Tobacco, and ofllds go in — 
A jargon so truly adapted, in fact, 
To each thievish, obscene, and ferocious act. 
So fit for the brute with the human shape. 
Savage Baboon, or libidinous Ape, 
Froni their ugly mouths it will certainly come 
Should they ever get weary of shamming dumb ! 

Alas ! for the Voice of Virtue and Truth, 
And the sweet little innocent prattle of youth ! 
The smallest urchin w'.iose tongue could tang, 
ShockM the Dame with a volley of slang, 
Fit for Fagin's juvenile gang; 
While the charity chap. 
With his nuiflin cap, 

His crimson coat, and his l)adge so garish, 
Playing at dumps, or pitch in the hole, 
Cursed his eyes, limbs, body, and soul. 

As if they didn't belong to the Parish! 
'Twas awful to hear as she went along, 
The wicked words of the popular song ; 

Or supposing she listen'd — as gossips will — 
At a door ajar, or a window iigape, 



318 A TALE OF A TRUMPET. 

To catcli the sounds they allow'd to escape, 
Those sounds belong'd to Depravity still ! 
The dark allusion, or bolder brag 
Of the dexterous " dodge," and the lots of " swa 
The plunder'd house — or the stolen nag — 
The blazing rick, or the darker crime - 
That quench'd the spark before its time — 
The wanton speech of the wife immoral — 
The noise of drunken or deadly quarrel, — 
With savage menaces, which threaten'd the life. 
Till the heart seem'd merely a strop " for the knife ; ** 
The human liver, no better than that 
Which is sHced and thrown to an old woman's cat; 
And the head, so useful for shaking and nodding, 
To be punch'd into holes, like " a shocking bad hat " 
That is only fit to be punch'd into wadding ! 

In short, wherever she turn'd the horn. 
To the highly bred or the lowly born, 
The working man who look'd over the hedge, 
Or the mother nursing her infant pledge, 
The sober Quaker, averse to quarrels. 
Or the Governess pacing the village through. 
With her twelve Young Ladles, two and two, 
Looking, as such young ladies do, 
Truss'd by Decorum and stuff 'd with morals— 
Whether she listen'd to Hob or Bob, 

Nob or Snob, 

The Squire on his cob. 
Or Trudge and his ass at a tinkering job. 
To the Saint who expounded at " Little Zion *■* — 
Or the " Sinner who kept the Golden Lion " — 
The man teetotally wean'd from liquor — 
The Beadle, the Clerk, or the Reverend Vicar — 
Nay, the very Pie in its cage of wicker — 
She gather'd such mxeanings, double or single, 

That like the bell 

With mulfins to sell, 
Her ear was kept in a constant tingle ! 



A TALE OF A TRUMPET. .'?10 

But this was nought to the tales of shamo, 

The constant runnings of evil fame, 

Foul, and dirty, and black as ink, 

That her ancient cronies, with nod and wink, 

Pour'd in her horn like slops in a sink : 

While sitting in conclave, as gossips do, 
With their Hyson or Howqua, black or green, 
And not a little of feline spleen 

Lapp'd up in " Catty packages," too. 

To give a zest to the sipping and supping ; 
For still by some invisible tether, 
Scandal and Tea are link'd together, 

As surely as Scarification and Cupping; 
Yet never since Scandal drank Bohea — 
Or sloe, or whatever it happen'd to be, 
For some grocerly thieves 
Turn over new leaves 
Without much amending their lives or their tea — 
No, never since cup was fiU'd or stirr'd 
Were such vile and horrible anecdotes heard, 
As blacken'd their neighbours, of eitlicr gender, 
Especially that which is call'd the Tender, 
But instead of the softness we fancy therewith, 
As harden'd in vice as the vice of a smith. 

Women! the wretches! had soil'd ami niarr'd 

Whatever to womanly nature belongs ; 
For the marriage tie they had no regai'd. 
Nay, sped their mates to the sexton's yard, 

(Like Madame liaffarge, who with poisonous 
pinches 

Kept cutting off her L by inches) 
And as for drinking, they drank so hard 

That they drank their Hat-irons, pokers, and 
tongs ! 
The men— they fought and gambled at fairs; 
An(i poach'd— and didn't n'sj>ect grey hairs- 
Stole linen, mom-y, plate, jxiultry, ami corst's ; 
And broke in houses as well as horses ; 



320 A TALE OF A TRUMPET. 

Unfolded folds to kill their own mutton, 

And would their own mothers and wives for a 

button — 
But not to repeat the deeds they did, 
Backsliding in spite of all moral skid, 
If all were true that fell from the tongue, 
There was not a villager, old or young, 
But deserved to be whipp'd, imprison'd, or hung, 
Or sent on those travels which nobody hurries 
To publish at Colburn's, or Longmans', or Murray's 

Meanwhile the Trumpet, con amore^ 
Transmitted each vile diabolical story ; 
And gave the least whisper of slips and falls. 
As that Gallery does in the Dome of St. Paul's, 
Which, as all the world knows, by practice or .print, 
Is famous for making the most of a hint. 
Not a murmur of shame, 
Or buzz of blame. 
Not a flying report that flew at a name, 
Not a plausible gloss, or significant note, 
Not a word in the scandalous circles afloat 
Of a beam in' the eye or diminutive mote, 
But vorttix-like that tube of tin 
Suck'd the censorious particle in ; 

And, truth to tell, for as willino; an or^an 
As ever listen d to serpents hiss, 
Nor took tho viperous sound amiss. 

On the snaky head of an ancient Gorgon ! 

The Dame, it is true, Avould mutter " Shocking ! " 
And give her head a sorrowful rocking, 
And m:ike a clucking with palate and tongue, 
Like the call of Partlett to gather her young, . 
A sound, when human, that always proclaims 
At least a thousand pities and shames, 

But still the darker the tale of sin. 
Like certain folks when calamities burst. 
Who find a comfort in " hearing the worst," 

The farther she poked the Trumpet in. 



A TALE OF A TRUMPET. 321 

Nay, worse, whatever she heard, she spread 
East and West, and North and South, 

Like the ball which, accordinp: to Captain Z, 
Went in at his ear, and came out at his mouth. 

What wonder between the horn and the Dame, 
Such mischief was made wherever they came, 
That the Parish of" Trin^ham was all in a flame 1 

For althoufrh it re(iuires such loud discharges, 
Such peals of thunder as rumbled at Lear, 
To turn the smallest of table-beer, 
A little whisper breathed info the ear 

Will sour a temper " as sour as varges." 
In fact such very ill blood there grew, 

From this private circulation of stories, 
That the nearest neighbours the village through, 
Look'd at each other as yellow and blue 
As any electioneering crew 

Wearing the colours of Whigs and Tories. 

Ah ! well the Poet said, in sooth, 

That " whispering tongues can poison Truth," 

Yea, like a dose of oxalic acid. 

Wrench and convulse poor Peace, the placid. 

And ra^k dear Love with internal fuel, 

Like arsenic pastry, or what is as cruel, 

Sugar of lead, that sweetens gruel. 

At least such torments began to wring 'em 

From the very morn 

When that mischievous Horn 
Caught the whisper of tongues in Tringham. 

Tlie Social Clubs dissolved in huffs. 
And the Sons of Haimony came to cuffs. 
While feuds arose, and family quarrels. 
That discomposed the mechanics of morals. 
For screws were loose between brother and 

biother. 
While sisters iiisteu'd their nails on each other: 
VOL. I. 21 



322 A TALE OF A TRUMPET. 

Such wrangles, and jangles, and milf, and tiff, 

And spar, and jar — and breezes as stiff 

As ever upset a friendship or skiff! 

The plighted Lovers, who used to walk, 

Refused to meet, and declined to talk ; 

And wish'd for twe moons to reflect the sun, 

That they mightn't look together on one ; 

While wedded affection ran so low, 

That the oldest John Anderson snubbed his Jo-^ 

And instead of the toddle adown the hill, 

Hand in hand 

As the song has plann'd, 
Scratch'd her, penniless, out of his will ! 

In short, to describe what came to pass 

In a true, though somewhat theatrical way, 

Instead of " Love in a Village" — alas ! 

The piece they perform'd was " The Devil to 
Pay ! " 

However, as secrets are brought to light, 
And mischief comes home like chickens at night ; 
And rivers are track'd throughout their course, 
And forgeries traced to their proper source ; — 

And the sow that ought 

By the ear is caught, — 
And the sin to the sinful door is brought; 
And the cat at last escapes from the bag — 
And the saddle is placed on the proper nag; 
And the fog blows off, and the key is found — 
And the faulty scent is pick'd out "by the hound — 
And the fact turns up like a worm from the 

ground — 
And the^ matter gets wind to waft it about ; 
And a hint goes abroad, and the murder is out — 
And the riddle is guess'd — and the puzzle is 

known — 
So the truth was sniff 'd, and the Trumpet was 

blown 1 

***** 



A TALE OF A TllUMPET. 3. '3 

'Tis a fky in November — a day of fog — 
l)Ut the Tringliam people are all agog; 
Fathers, Mothers, and Mothers' Sons,— 
AVith sticks, and staves, and swords, and guns,— 
As if in pursuit of a rabid dog ; 
But their voices — raised to the highest pitch — 
Declare that the game is " a Witch ! — a Witch I ** 
Over the Green, and along by the George — 
Past tlie Stocks, and the Church, and the Forge, 
And round the Pound, and skirting the Pond, 
Till they come to the whitewash'd cottage beyond, 
And there at the door they muster and cluster, 
And thump, and kick, ami bellow, and bluster — 
Enough to put old Nick in a fluster ! 
A noise, indeed, so loud and long, 
And mix'd with expressions so very strong. 
That supposing, according to popular fame, 
*' Wise Woman " and Witch to be the same. 
No hag with a broom would unwisely stop. 
But up and away through the chimney-top; 
Whereas, the moment they burst the door, 
Planted fast on her sanded floor, 
With her Trumpet up to her oi'gan of hearing, 
Lo and behold ! — Dame Eleanor Spearing ! 

Oh ! then arises the fearful shout — 
Bawl'd and scream'd, and bandied about — ■ 
'• Seize her ! — Drag the old Jezebel out ! " 
While the Beadle — the tbi-einost of all the band, 
Snatches the Horn from her trembling hand — 
And after a pause of doubt and fear, 
Puts it np to his sharpest ear. 

" Now silence — silence — one and all ! " 
For the Clerk is (pioting from Holy Paul ! 

But before he relicarscs 

A couple of verses, 
The Beadle lets the irumpet fall ; 
For insteatl of the words so pious and humble. 
He hears a supernatural lirumble. 



324 A TALE OF A TRUMPET. 

Enough, enough ! and more than enough; — - 
Twenty impatient hands and rough, 
By arm, and leg, and neck, and scruff, 
Apron, 'kerchief, gown of stuff — 
Cap, and pinner, sleeve, and cuff — 
Are clutching the Witch wherever they can, 
With the spite of Woman and fury of Man ; 
And then — but first they kill her cat. 
And murder her dog on the very mat — 
And crash the Infernal Trumpet flat ; — 
And then they hurry her through the door 
She never, never, will enter more 1 

Away ! away ! down the dusty lane 

They pull her, and haul her, with might and 

main : 
And happy the hawbuck, Tom or Harry 
Dandy, or Sandy, Jerry, or Larry, 
Who happens to get " a leg to carry ! " 
And happy the foot that can give her a kick. 
And happy the hand that can find a brick — 
And happy the fingers that hold a stick — 
Knife to cut, or pin to prick — 
And happy the Boy who can lend her a lick ; — • 
Nay, happy the Urchin — Charity-bred, 
Who can shy very nigh to her wicked old head ! 

Alas ! to think how people's creeds 
Are contradicted by people's deeds ! 

But though the wishes that Witches utter 
Can play the most diabolical rigs — 
Send styes In the eye — and measle the pigs — • 

Grease horses' heels — and spoil the butter ; 
Smut and mildew the corn on the stalk — 
And turn new milk to water and chalk, — 
Blight apples — and give the chickens the pip — 
And cramp the stomach — and cripple the hip — 
And waste the body — and addle the eggs—- 
And give a baby bandy legs ; 



A TALE OF A TRUMPET. 325 

Tliongh In common belief a Witch's curse 
Involves all these horrible thinfjs and worse — ■ 
As ignorant bumpkins all ])rofess, 
No Bumpkin makes a poke the less 
At the back or ribs of old Eleatior S. ! 

As if she were only a sack of barley ; 
Or gives her credit for greater might 
Than the Powers of Darkness confer at night 

On that other old woman, the parish Charley ; 

Ay, now's the time for a AVitch to call 

On her Imps and Sucklings one and all — 

Newes, Pyewacket, or Peck in the Ci-own, 

(As Matthew Hopkins has handed them down,) 

Dick, and Willet, and Sugar-and-Sack, 

Greedy (Jrizel, Jarmara the Black, 

Vinegar Tom and the rest of the pack — 

Ay, now's the nick for her friend old Harry 

To come " with his tail " like the bold Glengarry, 

And drive her foes from their savage job 

As a mad Black Bullock would scatter a mob: 

But no such matter is down in the bond ; 
And spite of her cries that never cease, 
But scare the ducks and astonish the geese, 

The Dame is dragg'd to the fatal pond I 

And now they come to the water's brim — 

And in they bundle her — sink or swim; 

Though it's twenty to one that the wretch must 

drown. 
With twenty sticks to hold her down ; 
Including the help to the self-same end, 
Which a travelling Pedlar stops to lend. ■ 
A Pedlar ! — Yes !^— The s ime ! — the same ! 
Who sold the Horn to the drowning Dame! 
And now is foremost amid the stir, 
With a token only revealed to her ; 
A token that makes her shudder and shriek, 
And point with her linger, and strive to speak — 



326 THE IRISH SCHOOLMASTER. 

But before she can utter the name of the Devil, 
Her head is under the water level ! 

moxnL 
There are folks about town — to name no names— 
Who much resemble that deafest of Dames ; 

And over their tea, and muffins, and crumpets, 
Circulate many a scandalous word, 
And whisper tales they could only have heard 

Through some such Diabolical Trumpets ! 



THE IRISH SCHOOLMASTER. 

I. 
Alack I *tis melancholy theme to think 
How Learning doth in rugged states abide, 
And, like her bashful owl, obscurely blink, 
In pensive glooms and corners, scarcely spied j 
Not, as in Founders' Halls and domes of pride, 
Served with grave homage, like a tragic queen. 
But with one lonely priest compell'd to hide. 
In midst of foggy moors and mosses green, 
In that clay cabin hight the College of Kilreen I 

II. 

This College looketh South and West alsoe, 
Because it hath a cast in windows twain ; 
Crazy and crack'd they be, and wind doth blow 
Thorough transparent holes in every pane, 
Which Dan, with many paines, makes whole 

again 
With nether garments, which Lis thrift doth 

teach, 
To stand for glass, like pronouns, and when rain 
Stormeth, he puts, " once more unto the breach," 
Outside and in, tho' broke, yet so he mendeth each. 



'HIE IRISH SCHOOLMASTER. 827 

III. 

And in the midst a little door there is, 
Whereon a board that doth confrratiilate 
With painted letters, red as blood I wis. 
Thus written, " ©tjtltiren tafeeii in to Bate j" 
And oft, indeed, the inward of that gate. 
Most ventriloque, doth utter tender squeak, 
And moans of infants that bemoan their fate, 
In midst of sounds of Latin, French, and Greek, 
Which, all i' the Irish tongue, he teacheth them to 
speak. 

IV. 

For some are meant to right illegal wrongs, 
And some for Doctors of Diviuitie, 
Whom he doth teach to murder the dead tongues. 
And soe win academical degree ; 
But some are bred for service of the sea, 
Howbeit, their store of learning is but small, 
For mickle waste he counteth it would be 
To stock a head with bookish wares at all, 
Only to be knocked off by ruthless cannon ball. 

V. 

Six babes he sways, — some little and some big, 
Divided into classes six ; — alsoe, 
He keeps a parlour boarder of a pig, 
That in the College fareth to and fro. 
And picketh up the urchins' crumbs below — 
And eke the learned rudiments they scan, 
And thus his A, B, C, doth wisely know- 
Hereafter to be shown in caravan. 
And raise the wonderment of many a learned man 

VI. 

Alsoe, he schools some tame familiar fowls, 
Whereof, above his head, some two or three 
Sit darkly squatting, like Minerva's owls. 



328 THE IRISH SCHOOLMASTER. 

But on the branches of no living tree, 
And overlook the learned family ; 
AVhile, sometimes, Partlet, from her gloomy perch, 
Drops feather on the nose of Dominie, 
Meanwhile, with serious eye, he makes research 
In leaves of that sour tree of knowledge — now a 
birch. 

VII. 

No chair he hath, the awful Pedagogue, 
Such as would magisterial hams imbed, 
But sitteth lowly on a beechen log, 
Secure in high authority and dread : 
Large, as a dome for learning, seems his head, 
And like Apollo's, all beset with rays, 
Because his locks are so unkempt and red, 
And stand abroad in many several ways : — 
No laurel crown he wears, howbeit his cap is baise 

VIII. 
And, underneath, a pair of shaggy brows 
O'erhang as many eyes of gizzard hue, 
That inward giblet of a fowl, which shows 
A mongrel tint, that is ne brown ne blue ; 
His nose, — it is a coral to the view ; 
Well nourish'd with Pierian Potheen, — - 
For much he loves his native mountain dew — ■ 
But to depict the dye would lack, I ween. 



As for his coat, 'tis such a jerkin short 
As Spencer had, ere he composed his Tails ; 
But underneath he hath no vest, nor aught, 
So that the wind his airy breast assails ; 
Below, he wears the nether garb of males, 
Of crimson plush, but non-plushed at the knee :— 
Thence further down the native red prevails. 
Of his own naked fleecy hosierie : — 
Two sandals, without soles, complete his cap-a-pie. 



THE lEISII SCHOOLMASTER. 329 



X. 

Nathless, for dignity, he now doth lap 
His function in a magisterial gown, 
That shows more countries in it than a map, — 
Blue tinct, and red, and green, and rus^;et brown, 
Besides some blots, standing for country-town, 
And eke some rents, tor streams and rivers wide ; 
But, sometimes, bashful when he looks adown, 
He turns the garment of the other side. 
Hopeful that so the holes may never be espied I 

XI. 

And soe he sits, amidst tlie little pack 

That look for shady or for suimy noon, 

Within his visage, like an almanai-k, — 

His quiet smile foretelling gracious boon : 

But when his mouth droops down, like rainy 

moon. 
With horrid chill each little heart unwarms, 
Knowing, that infant show'rs will follow soon. 
And with forebodings of near wrath and storms 
They sit, like timid hares, all trembling on their 

forms. 

XII. 

Ah ! luckless wight, who cannot then repeat 
" Corduroy Colloquy," — or " Ki, Ka?, Kod," — • 
Full soon his tears shall make his turfy seat 
]\Iore sodden, tho' already made of sod, 
For Dan shall whip him with the word of God,— 
Severe by rule, and not by nature mild. 
He never spoils the child and spares the rod, 
But spoils the rod and never spares the child, 
And soe with holy rule deems he is reconciled. 

XIII. 

But surely the just sky will never Avink 
At men who take delight in childish three, 



330 THE IRISH SCHOOLMASTER. 

And stripe the nether-urchin hke a pink 
Or tender hyacinth, inscribed with woe ; 
Such bloody Pedagogues, when they shall know, 
By useless birches, that forlorn recess, 
Which is no holiday, in Pit below. 
Will hell not seem design'd for their distress, — 
A melancholy place, that is all bottomlesse ? 

XIV. 

Yet would the Muse not chide the wholesome 

use 
Of needful discipline, in due degree. 
Devoid of sway, what wrongs will time produce, 
Whene'er the twig untrain'd grows up a tree, 
This shall a Carder, that a Whiteboy be. 
Ferocious leaders of atrocious bands, 
And Learning's help be used for infamie, 
By lawless clerks, that, with their bloody hands, 
In murder'd English write Bock's murderous com- 
mands. 

XV. 

But ah ! what shrilly cry doth now alarm 
The sooty fowls that doz'd upon the beam. 
All sudden fluttering from the brandish'd arm 
And cackling chorus with the human scream ; 
Meanwhile the scourge plies that unkindly seam 
In Phelim's brogues, which bares his naked skin, 
Like traitor gap in warlike fort, I deem, 
That falsely lets the fierce besieger in, 
Nor seeks the Pedagogue by other course to win. 

XVI. 

No parent dear he hath to heed his cries ; — 
Alas ! his parent dear is far aloof. 
And deep in Seven-Dial cellar hes. 
Killed by kind cudgel-play, or gin of proof, 
Or clirabeth, catwise, on some London roof, 
Singing, perchance, a lay of Erin's Isle, 



THE IRISFI SCnOOLMASTPni. 331 

Or, whilst he labours, weaves a fancy-woof, 
Dreaming he sees his home,— his Plielim smile ; 
Ah me ! that luckless imp, who weepeth all the 
while ! 

XVII. 
Ah I who can paint that hard and heavy time, 
When first the scholar lists in learning's train, 
And mounts her rugged steep enforc'd to climb, 
Like sooty imp, by sharp posterior pain. 
From bloody twig, and eke that Indian came, 
Wherein, alas I no sugar'd juices dwell ? 
For this, the while one stripling's sluices drain, 
Another weepeth over chilblains fell. 
Always upon the heel, yet never to be well 1 

XVIII. 

Anon a third, for his delicious root. 

Late ravish'd from his tooth by elder chit, 

So soon is human violence afoot, 

So hardly is the harmless biter bit ! 

Meanwhile, the tyrant, with untimely wit 

And mouthing "face, derides the small one's 

moan. 
Who, all lamenting for his loss, doth sit, 
Alack, — -mischance comes seldomtimes alone, 
But aye the worried dog must rue more curs than 

one. 

XIX. 

For lo ! the Pedagogue, with sudden drub, 
Smites his scald head, that is already sore, — 
Superfluous wound, — such is Misfortune's rub ! 
Who straight makes answer with redoubled roar, 
And sheds salt tears twice faster than before. 
That still with backward fist he strives to dry; 
Washing with brackish moisture, o'er and o'er, 
His muddy cheek, that grows more foul thereby, 
Till all his raiuy face looks grim as rainy sky. 



332 THE IRISH SCHOOLMASTER. 



So Dan, by dint of noise, obtains a peace, 
And with bis natural untender knack, 
By new distress, bids former grievance cease, 
Like tears dried up with rugged huckaback, 
That sets the mournful visage all arack ; 
Yet soon the childish countenance will shine 
Even as thorough storms the soonest slack. 
For grief and beef in adverse ways inchne, 
This keeps, and that decays, when duly soak'd ii 
brine. 

XXI. 

Now all is hush'd, and, with a look profound, 
The Dominie lays ope the learned page ; 
(So be it called) although he doth expound 
Without a book, both Greek and Latin sage ; 
Now telleth he of Kome's rude infant age. 
How R(»mulus was bred in savage wood. 
By we^ nurse wolf, devoid of wolfish rage, 
And laid foundation-stone of walls of mud, 
But watered it, alas ! with warm fraternal blood. 

XXII. 

Anon, he turns to that Homeric war. 
How Troy was sieged like Londonderry town \ 
And stout Achilles, at his jaunting-car. 
Dragged mighty Hector with a bloody crown : 
And eke the bard, that sung of their renown, 
In garb of Greece most beggar-like and torn, 
He paints, with colly, wand'ring up and down 
Because, at once, in seven cities born ; 
And so, of parish rights, was, all his days, for* 
lorn. 

XXIII. 

Anon, through old Mythology he i^es. 
Of gods defunct, and all their pedigrees, 



THE IRISH SCIIOULMASTKR. 33^ 

But shnns their scandalous amours, and shows 
How Plato wise, and clear-eyed Socrates, 
Contess'd not to those heatluMi lies and shes ; 
But thro' the clouds of the Olympic cope 
Beheld St. Peter with his holy keys, 
And own'd their love was naught, and bow'd to 
Pope, 
Whilst all their purblind race in Pagan mist did 
grope. 

XXIV. 

From such quaint themes he turns, at last, aside, 

To new jjhilosophies, that still are green. 

And shows what railroads have been track'd to 

guide 
The wheels of great political machine ; 
If English corn should grow abroad, I ween. 
And gold be made of gold, or paper sheet ; 
How many pigs be born to each spalpeen ; 
And ah ! how man shall thrive beyond his meat, — 
With twenty souls alive, to one square sod of peat I 

XXV. 

Here, he makes end ; and all the fry of youth, 
That stood around with serious look intense. 
Close up again their gaping eyes and mouth, 
Which they had openM to his elotjuence. 
As if their hearing were a threefold sense- 
But now the current of his wortls is done, 
And whether any fruits shall spring from thence, 
In future time, with any mother's son ! 
It is a thing, God wot ! that can be told by none. 

XXVI. 

Now by the creeping shadows of the noon. 
The hour is come to lay aside their lore ; 
The cheerful Pedagogue perceives it soon. 
And ci'ies, " Begone ! " unto tlie imps, — and four 
Snatch their two hats and struggle for the door. 



'Soi THE IRISH SCHOOLMASTKR. 

Like ardent spirits vented from a cask, " 
All blithe and boisterous, — but leave two more, 
With Reading made Uneasy for a task, 
To weep, whilst all their mates in merry sunshine 
bask. 



Like sportive Elfins, on the verdant sod, 
With tender moss so sleekly overgrown. 
That doth not hurt, but kiss, the sole unshod, 
So soothly kind is Erin to her own ! 
And one, at Hare and Hound, plays all alone, — 
For Phelim's gone to tend his step-dame's cow; 
Ah ! Phelim's step-dame is a canker'd crone ! 
AVhilst other twain play at an Irish row, 
And, with shillelah small, break one another's brow 

XXVIII. 

But careful Dominie, with ceaseless thrift, 
Now changeth ferula for rural hoe ; 
But, first of all, with tender hand doth shift 
His college gown, because of solar glow. 
And hangs it on a bush, to scare the crow : 
Meanwhile, he plants in earth the dappled bean, 
Or trains the young potatoes all a-row, 
Or plucks the fragrant leek for pottage green. 
With that crisp curly herb, call'd Kale in Abeiv 
deen. 

XXIX. 

And so he wisely spends the fruitful hours, 
Link'd each to each by labour, Hke a bee ; 
Or rules in Learning's hall, or trims her bow'rs ;— 
Would there were many more such wights as he^ 
To sway each capital academie 
Of Cam and Isis ; for alack ! at each 
There dwells, I wot, some dronish Dominie, 
That does no garden work, nor yet doth teach, 
But wears a lloury head, and talks in llow'ry speech \ 



THE FORGE. 3:^;* 



THE FORGE. 

A ROMANCE OF THE IRON AGK. 

" Who's here, beside foul weather ? " 

Kino Lear. 
" Mine enemy's dog, though he had bit me, 
Shouid have stood that uight agiiinst my fire." 

Cordelia. 

PART I. 

I.IKE a dead man gone to his shroud, 
The sun has sunk in a coppery cloud, 
And the wind is risinnr squally and loud 

With many a stormy token, — 
Playinof a wild funereal air. 

Through the branches bleak, bereaved, and bare, 
To the dead leaves dancing here and there — 

In short, if the truth were spoken, 
It's an ugly night for anywhere, 

But an awful one for the BrockenI 

For oh ! to stop 
On that mountain top, 
Afler the dews of evening drop, 

Is ajways a dreary frolic — 
Then what must it be when nature groans, 
And the very mountain murmurs and moanf 

As if it writhed with the cholic — 
With other strange supernatural tones, 
From wood, and water, and echoing stones, 
Not to forget unburied bones — 

In a region so diabolic ! 

A place where he whom we call old Scratch, 
By help of his ^Vit(•hcs— a precious bati-h — 
Gives midni<ilit concerto and scrnious, 



M.'.d THE FOKGE. 

In a Pulpit and Orchestra built to match, 
A plot right worthy of him to hatch, 
And well adapted, he knows, to catch 
The musical, mystical Germans ! 

However it's quite 
As wild a night 
As ever was known on that sinister height 

Since the Demon-Dance was morriced — 
The earth is dark, and the sky is scowling, 
And the blast through the pines is howling anHI 

growling, 
As if a thousand wolves were prowling 
About in the old Black Forest ! 

Madly, sadly, the Tempest raves 

Through the narrow gullies and hollow cavea, 

And bursts on the rocks in windy waves, 

Like the billows that roar 

On a gusty shore 
Mourning over the mariners' graves — 
Nay, more like a frantic lamentation 

From a howling set 

Of demons met 
To wake a dead relation. 

Badly, madly, the vapours fly 
Over the dark distracted sky. 

At a pace that no pen can paint ! 
Black and vague like tlie shadows of dreams. 
Scudding over the moon that seems 
Shorn of half her usual beams, 
As pale as if she would faint ! 

The lightning flashes, 
^ The thunder ci-ashes, 
The trees encounter with horrible clashes, 
While rolling up from marish and bog, 
Rank and rich. 



THE FORGE. 337 

As from Stygian ditch, 

Rises a foul sulphureous fog, 

Hinting that Satan himself is agog, — 
But leavinnj at once this heroical pitch, 
The night is a very bad night ia Avhicb 

You wouldn't turn out a dog. 

Yet ONE there is abroad in the storm, 

And whenever by chance 

The moon gets a glance, 
She spies the Traveller's lonely form, 
Walking, leaping, striding along, 
As none can do but the super-strong ; 
And flapping his arms to keep him warm. 
For the breeze from the North is a regular starver, 

And to tell the truth. 

More keen, in sooth. 
And cutting than any German carver 1 

However, no time it is to lag ; 
And on he scrambles from crag to crag, 
Like one determined never to flag — 
Now weathers a block 
Of jutting rock, 
With hardly room for a toe to wag ; 
But holding on by a timber snag, 
That looks like the arm of a friendly hag; 
Then stooping under a drooping bough. 
Or leaping over some horrid chasm, 
Enough to give any heart a spasm ! 
And sinking down a precipice now, 
Keeping his feet the Deuce knows how. 
In spots whence all creatures would keep aloof, 
Except the Goat, with his cloven hoof, 
Who clings to the shallowest ledge as if 
He grew like the weed on the face of the cliflfl 
So down, still down, the Traveller goes. 
Safe as the Chamois amid his snows. 
Though fiercer than ever the hurricane blows, 
VOL. I. 22 



338 THE FORGE. 

And round tim eddy, with whiil and whizz, 
Tornadoes of hail, and sleet, and rain, 
Enough to bewilder a weaker brain, 

Or blanch any other visage than his, 
Which spite of lightning, thunder, and hail, 
The blinding sleet, and the freezing gale, 
And the horrid abyss. 
If his foot should miss, 
Instead of tending at all to pale. 
Like cheeks that feel the chill of affright — 
Remains — the very reverse of white ! 

His heart is granite — his iron nerve 

Feels no convulsive twitches ; 
And as to his foot, it does not swerve, 
Tho' the Screech-Owls are flitting about him that 
serve 

For parrots to Brocken Witches ! 

Nay, full in his very path he spies 

The gleam of the Wehr Wolf's horrid eyes ; 

But if his members quiver — 
It is not for that — no, it is not for that — 
Nor rat, 
Nor cat, 

As black as your hat, 
Nor the snake that hiss'd, nor the toad that spat, 
Nor glimmering candles of dead men's fat, 
Nor even the flap of the Vampire Bat, 
No anserine skin would rise thereat. 
It's the cold that makes Him shiver ! 

So down, still down, through gully and glen, 
Never trodden by foot of men, 
Past the Eagle's nest, and the She- Wolf 's den, 
Never caring a jot how steep 
Or how narrow the track he has to keep. 
Or how wide and deep 
An abyss to leap, 



THE FORGE. 339 

Or wliat may fly, or walk, or croop, 
Down lie hurriL's throuirh darkness and storm, 
Flappinjx his arms to keep him warm — 
Till threading many a pass abhorrent, 

At las': he reaches the mountain gorge, 
And t^kes a path along by a tori-ent — 

The very identical path, bv St. George ! 

Down which young Fridolin went to the Forge, 
With a message meant for his own death-warrant ! 

Young Fridolin ! young Fridolin ! 
So free from sauce, and sloth, and sin, 
The best of pages 
Whatever their ages, 
Since first that singular foshion came in — 
Not he like those modern and idle young gluttons 
W^ith little jackets, so smart and spruce, 
Of Lincoln green, sky-blue, or puce — 
And a little gold lace you may introduce — 
Very showy, but as for use, 
Not worth so many buttons 1 

Young Fridolin ! young Fridolin ! 
Of his duty so true a fultiller — 
But here we need no tarther go. 
For whoever desires the Tale to know 
May read it all in Schiller. 
Faster now the Traveller speeds, 
W^hither his guiding be.icou leads. 
For by yonder glare 
In the murky air. 
He knows that the Eisen Ilutte is there j 

W^ith its sooty Cyclops, savage and grim, 
Hosts, a guest had better forbear. 
Whose thoughts are set upon dainty fare^ 
But stitf with cold in every limb, 
The Furnace Fire is the bait ibr Iliin t 

Faster and fister still he goes. 

Whilst redder and redder the welkin glows. 



3 10 THE FORGE. 

And the lowest clouds that scud in the sky- 
Get crimson fringes in flitting by. 
•Till lo ! amid the lurid light, 

The darkest object intensely dark, 
Just where the bright is intensely bright, 
The Forge, the Forge itself is in sight, 

Like the pitch-black hull of a burning bark. 
With volleying smoke, and many a spark, 
Vomiting fire, red, yellow, and white ! 

Restless, quivering tongues of flame ! 
Heavenward striving still to go, 
While others, reversed in the stream below, 
Seem seeking a place we will not name, 
But well that Traveller knows the same, 
Who stops and stands, 
So rubbing his hands. 
And snuffing the rare 
Perfumes in the air. 
For old familiar odours are there. 
And then direct by the shortest cut, 
Like Alpine Marmot, whom neither riit, 
Rivers, rocks, nor thickets rebut. 
Makes his way to the blazing Hut ! 



PAET II. 

Idly watching the Furnace-flames, 
The men of the stithy 
Are in their smithy. 
Brutal monsters, with bulky frames. 
Beings Humanity scarcely claims. 
Bat hybrids rather of demon race, 
Unbless'd by the holy rite of grace. 
Who never had gone by Christian namea, 
Mark, or Matthew, Peter, or James — 
Naked, foul, unshorn, unkempt. 
From touch of natural shame exempt. 
Things of which Delirium has dreamt — ■ 



THE FORGE. 341 

But wherefore dwell on those verbal sketches, 
When traced with frightful truth and vigour, 
Costume, attitude, face, and figure, 
Retsch has drawn the very wretches ! 

However, there they lounge about, 
The grim, gigantic fellows. 

Hardly hearing the storm without, 
That makes so very dreadful a rout, 
For the constant roar 
From the furnace door. 
And the blast of the monstrous bellows ! 

Oh, what a scene 
That Forge had been 
For Salvator Rosa's study ! 
With wall, and beam, and post, and pin, 
And those ruffianly creatures, like Shapes of Sin, 
Hair, and eyes, and rusty skin ; 

Illumed by a light so ruddy 
The Hut, and whatever there is thercxn, 
Looks either red-hot or bloody ! 

And, oh ! to hear the frequent burst 
Of strange extravagant laughter, 
Harsh and hoarse. 
And resounding perforce 
From echoing roof and rafter ! 
Though curses, the worst 
That ever were curst. 
And threats that Cain invented the first, 
Come growling the instant after 1 

But again the livelier peal is rung. 

For the Smlth-hight Salamander, 
In the jargon of some Titanic tongue, 
Elsewhere never said or sun^. 
With the voice of a Stentor in joke has dung 
Some cumbrous sort 
Of sledge-hanm>er retort 
At Red-Beard, the crew's commander. 



342 THE FORGE. 

Some frightful jest — who knows how wild, 
Or obscene, from a monster so defiled, 
And a horrible mouth, of such extent. 
From flapping ear to ear it went, 
And show'd such tusks whenever it smiled — > 
The very mouth to devour a child ! 

But fair or foul the jest gives birth 
To another bellow of demon mirth, 

That far outroars the weather, 
As if all the Hyaenas that prowl the earth 

Had clubb'd their laughs together ! 

And lo ! in the middle of all the din, 
Not seeming to care a single pin, 

For a prospect so volcanic, 
A stranger steps abruptly in. 

Of an aspect rather Satanic : 
And he looks with a grin, at those Cyclops 

grim. 
Who stare and grin again at him 

With wondrous httle panic. 

Then up to the Furnace the Stranger goes, 
Eager to thaw his ears and nose, 

And warm his frozen fingers and toes — 
While each succeeding minute. 
Hotter and hotter the smithy grows. 
And seems to declare. 
By a fiercer glare. 
On wall, roof, floor, and everywhere, 
It knows the Devil is in it ! 

Still not a word 
Is utter'd or heard. 
But the beetle-brow'd Foreman nods and winks, 
Much as a shaggy old Lion blinks. 
And makes a shift 
To impart his drift 



THE FOKGE. a I A 

To a smoky brother, who joining the links, 
Hints to a third the thing he thinks; 

And whatever it be, 

They all agree 
In smiling witli faces full of glee, 
As if about to enjoy High Jinks. 

What sort of tricks they mean to play 
By way of diversion, who can say. 
Of such ferocious and barbarous folk, 
AVho chuckled, indeed, and never spoke 
Of burning Robert the Jager to coke, 
Except as a capital practical joke ! 

Who never thought of Mercy, or heard her, 
Or any gentle emotion felt ; 
But hard as the iron they had to melt. 

Sported with Danger and romp'd with Murdei I 

Meanwhile the Stranger — 

The Brocken Riinger, 
Besides another and hotter post, 
That renders him not averse to a roast, — 
Creeping into the Furnace ahnost. 
Has" made himself as warm as a toast — • 

When, unsuspicious of any danger, 
And least of all of any such maggot, 
As treating his body like a faggot. 
All at once he is seized and shoven 

In pastime cruel. 

Like so much fuel, 
Headlong into the blazing oven ! 

In he goes ! with a frightful shout 
Mock'd by the rugged rutlianly band, 
As round the Furnace moutli they stand. 
Bar, and shovel, and ladle in hand, 

To hinder their Butt from crawh'ng out. 
Who making one fierce attempt, but vum, 
Receives such a blow 
From Red-Beard's crow 



344 THE FORGE. 

As crashes the skull and gashes the brain, 
And blind, and dizzy, and stunn'd with pain, 

With merely an interjectional oh ! 
Back he rolls in the flames again. 
" Ha ! Ha ! Ho ! Ho !" That second fall 
Seems the very best joke of all, 
To judge by the roar, 
Twice as loud as before. 
That fills the Hut from the roof to the floor, 
And flies a league or two out of the door, 
Up the mountain and over the moor — 
But scarcely the jolly echoes they wake, 
Have well begun 
To take up the fun. 
Ere the shaggy Felons have cause to quake, 

And begin to feel that the deed the» Have 

done, 
Instead of being a pleasant one, 
Was a very great error — and no mistake 

For why ? — in lieu 
Of its former hue. 
So natural, warm, and florid, 
The Furnace burns of a brimstone blue, 
And instead of the couleur de rose it tbre"v? 
With a cooler reflection, — justly due — 
Exhibits each of the Pagan crew, 

Livid, ghastly, and horrid ! 
But vainly they close their guilty eyes 

Against prophetic fears ; 
Or with hard and horny palms devise 
To dam their enormous ears — 

There are sounds in the air, 
Not here or there, 
Irresistible voices every whf re, 
No bulwarks can ever rebut. 

And to match the screams, 
Tremendous gleams, 
Of Horrors that like the Phantoms of dreai^w 



THE FORGE. 345 

They see "with their eyelids shut ! 
For awful coveys of terrible things, 
With forked tonirues and venomous stings, 
On hagweed, broomsticks, and leathern wings, 

Are hovering round the Hut ! 

Shapes, that within the focus bright 

Of the Forge, are like shadows and blots; 
But farther off, in the shades of night. 
Clothed with their own phosphoric light, 

Are seen in the darkest spots. 
Sounds! that fill the air with noises, 
Strange and indescribable voices. 
From Hags, in a diabolical clatter — 
Cats that spit curses, and apes that chatter 
Scraps of cabalistical matter — 

Owls that screech, and dogs that yell — 
Skeleton hounds that will never be fatter — 

All the domestic tribes of Hell, 
Shrieking for flesh to tear and tatter, 
Bones to shatter, 
And limbs to scatter. 
And who it is that must furnish the latter 

Those blue-looking men know well! 
Those blue-looking men that huddle together, 
For all their sturdy limbs and thews, 
Their nnshorn locks, like Nazarene Jews, 
And buffalo beards, and hides of leather, 
Huddled all in a heap together. 
Like timid lamb, and ewe, and wether. 
And as females say, 
In a similar way. 
Fit for knocking down with a feather ! 

In and out, in and out. 
The gathering Goblins hover about, 
Ev'ry minute augmenting the rout ; 
For like a spell 
The unearthly smell 
That fumes from the Furliace, chimney and mouth, 



31') THE FORGE. 

Draws them in — an infernal Legion — 
From East, and West, and North, and South, 
Like carrion birds from ev'ry region, 
Till not a yard square 
Of the sickening air 
But has a Demon or two for its share, 
Breathing fury, woe, and despair. 
Never, never was such a sight ! 
It beats the very Walpurgis Night, 
Display'd in the story of Doctor Faustus, 
For the scene to describe, 
Of the awful tribe, 
If we were two Gothes would quite exhaust us I 
Suffice it, amid that dreary swarm, 
There musters each foul repulsive form 
That ever a fancy overwarm 

Begot in its worst delirium*, 
Besides some others of monstrous size. 
Never before revealed to eyes, 
Of the genus Meojatherium ! 

Meanwhile the demons, filthy and foul, 
Gorgon, Chimera, Harpy, and Ghoul, 
Are not contented to jibber and howl ■ 

As a dirge for their late commander ; 
But one of the bevy — witch or wizard. 
Disguised as a monstrous flying lizard, 

Springs on the grisly Salamander, 
Who stoutly fights, and struggles, and Jcicks, 
And tries the best of his wrestling tricks, 
No paltry strife, 
But for life, dear life. 
But the ruthless talons refuse to unfix. 

Till far beyond a surgical case, 

With starting eyes and black in the face, 
Down he tumbles as dead as bricks ! 
A pretty sight for his mates to view ! 
Those shaggy murderers looking so blue, 
And for him above all. 



THE FORGE. ^4 7 

Red-bearded and tall, 
With whom, at that very particular nick, 
There is such an unhicky cj'Ow to ])ick, 
As the one of iron that did the trick 

In a recent bloody affair — 
No wonder feeling a little sick. 
With pulses beating uncommonly quick, 
And breath he never found so thick, 

He longs for the open air ! 

Three paces, or four, 
And he gains the door ; 
But ere he accomplishes one, 
The sound of a blow comes, heavy and dull, 
And clasping his fingers round his skull, 
However the deed was done. 

That gave him that florid 
Red gash on the forehead — 
With a roll of the eyeballs perfectly horrid, 
There's a tremulous quiver. 
The last death-shiver. 
And Red-Beard's course is run ! 

Halloo! Halloo! 
They have done for two ! 
But a heavyish job remains to do! 

For yonder, sledge and shovel in hand, 
Like elder Sons of'Ciant Despair, 

A couple of Cyclops make a stiind. 
And fiercely hanunering here and there. 
Keep at bay the Powers of Air — 
But desperation is all in vain ! 

They taint — they choke. 

For the sulphurous smoke 
Is poisoning heart, and lung, and brain. 
They reel, they sink, tiiey gasp, they smother; 
One* for a moment survives his brother, 
Then rolls a corpse across the other! 



348 "THE LAST MAN. 

Hulloo! Hulloo! 

And Hullabaloo! 
There is only one more thing to do — 
And seized by beak, and talon, and claw, 
Bony hand and hairy paw, 
Yea, crooked horn, and tusky jaw, 
The four huge Bodies are haul'd and shoven 
Each after each in the roaring oven ! 

* * * * 

* * » * 

* * * * 

That Eisen Hutte is standing stiU, 

Go to the Hartz whenever you will, 

And there it is beside a hill. 

And a rapid stream that turns many a mill ; 

The self-same Forge, — you'll know it at sight — 

Casting upward, day and night. 

Flames of red, and yellow, and white ! 

Ay, half a mile from the mountain gorge, 

There it is, the famous Forge, 

With its Furnace, — the same that blazed of yore,— 

Hugely fed with fuel and ore ; 

But ever since that tremendous Revel, 
Whatever Iron is melted therein, — 
As travellers know who have been to Berlin — 

Is all as Mack as the Devil I 



"THE LAST MAN." 

'TwAS in the year two thousand and one, 

A pleasant morning of May, 

I sat on the gallows-tree all alone, 

A chanting a merry lay, — 

To think how the pest had spared my life, 

To sing with the larks that day I 



"IHii LAST MAN." 349 

\\Tien np the heath came a jolly knave, 
Like a soarbcrow, all in rags : 
It made me crow to see his old duds 
All abroad in the wind, like flairs : — 
So up he came to the timbers' loot 
And pitch'd down his greasy bags. — 



Good Lord ! how blithe the old beggar was I 
At pulling out his scraps, — 
The very sight of his broken orts 
Made a work in his wrinkled chaps : 
" Come down," says he, " you Newgate-bird, 
And have a taste of my snaps ! " 

Then down the rope, like a tar from the mast, 

I sllded, and by him stood ; 

But I wish'd myself on the gallows again 

When I smelt that beggar's food, — ■ 

A foul beef-bone and a mouldy crust ; — 

" Oh I " quoth he, " the heavens are good ! " 

Then after this grace he cast him down, 

Says I, " You'll get sweeter air 

A pace or two off, on the windward side," — 

For the felons' bones lay there — 

But he only laugh'd at the empty skulls. 

And offer'd them part of his fare. 

" I neviir harm'd thr./n, and they won't harm me 

[iCt the j)roud and the rich be cravens ! " 

I did not like that strange beggar man. 

He look'd so up at the heavens. 

Anon he shook out his empty old poke , 

" There's the crumbs," saith he, " for the ravens ! " 

It made me angry to see his fiice. 

It had such a jesting look ; 

But while I made up my mind to speak, 

A small case-bottle he ""ook : 



350 " THE LAST MAN." 

Quotn lie, " Though I gather the green water-cress, 
My drink is not of the brook ! " 

Full manners-like he tender'd the dram ; 

Oh, it came of a dainty cask ! 

But, whenever if came to his turn to pull, 

" Your leave, good Sir, I must ask; 

But I always wipe the brim with my sleeve, 

When a hangman sups at my flask ! " 

And then he laugh'd so loudly and long, 

The churl was quite out of breath ; 

I thought the very Old One was come 

To mock me before my death. 

And wish'd I had buried the dead men's bones 

That were lying about the heath ! 

But the beggar gave me a jolly clap — 
" Come, let us pledge each other. 
For all the wide world is dead beside. 
And we are brother and brother — 
I've a yearning for thee in my heart, 
As if we had come of one mother. 

" I've a yearning for thee in my heart 
That almost makes me weep, 
For as I pass'd from town to town 
The folks were all stone-asleep, — 
But when I saw thee sitting aloft. 
It made me both laugh and leap ! " 

Now a curse (I thought) be on his love. 

And a curse upon his mirth, — 

An' it were not for that beggar man 

I 'd be the King of the earth, — 

But I promised myself, an hour should como 

To make him rue his birth ! — 

So down we sat and bous'd again 
Till the sun was in mid-sky, 



"THE LAST MAN,** 3o1 

Wlien, just when the gentle west-wind eaine, 
We hearken'd a dismal cry ; 
" Up, up, on the tree," quoth the beggar luau 
" Till these horrible dogs go by ! " 

And, lo ! from the forest's far-off skirts, 

They came all yelling for gore, 

A hundred hounds pursuing at once, 

And a panting hart before. 

Till he sunk adown at the gallows' foot 

And there his haunches they toi-e ! 

His haunches they tore, without- a horn 
To tell when the chase was done ; 
And there was not a single scarlet coat 
To flaunt it in the sun ! — 
1 turn'd, and look'd at the beggar man, 
And his tears dropt one by one 1 

And with curses sore he chid at the hounds 

'Till the last dropt out of sight. 

Anon, saith he, " let's down again, 

And ramble for our delight, 

For the world's all free, and we may choose 

A right cozie barn for to-night ! " 

With that, he set up his staff on end. 
And it fell with the point due West ; 
So we far'd that way to a city great. 
Where the folks had died of the pest — 
It was fine to enter in house and hall, 
Wherever it liked me best ; — 

For the porters all were stiff and cold. 

And could not lift their heads ; 

And when he came where their masters lay, 

The rats leapt out of the beds : — 

'I'he grandest palaces in the land 

Were as free as woi'khou.se sheds. 



352 "TIIE LAST MAN.' 

But the begojar man made a mumping face, 

And knock'd at every gate : 

It made me curse to hear how he -whiu'd, 

So our fellowship turn'd to hate, 

And I bade him walk the world by himself, 

For I seorn'd so humble a mate ! 

So he turn'd right and / turn'd left, 

As if we had never met ; 

And I chose a fair stone house for myself, 

For the city was all to let ; 

And for three brave holidays drank my fill 

Of the choicest that I could get. 

And because my jerkin was coarse and worn, 

I got me a properer vest ; 

It was purple velvet, stitch'd o'er with gold. 

And a shining star at the breast, — 

'Twas enough to fetch old Joan from her grave 

To see me so purely drest ! — 

But Joan was dead and under the mould, 

And every buxom lass ; 

In vain I watch'd at the window pane, 

For a Christian soul to pass ; — 

But sheep and kine wander'd up the street, 

And brows'd on the new-come grass. — 

When lo ! I spied the old beggar man, 
And lustily he did sing ! — 
His rags were lapp'd in a scarlet cloak, 
And a crown he had like a King ; 
So he stept right up before my gate 
And danced me a saucy fling ! 

Heaven mend us all ! — but, within my mind, 
I had kill'd him then and there ; 
To see him lording so braggart-like 
fare. 



" 1 liE LAST MAX." SJli 

And how he had stolen the royal crown 
His betters were meant to wear. 

But iSod forbid that a thief should die 

Without his share of the laws ! 

So I nimbly whipt my tackle out, 

And soon tied up his claws, — 

I was judge myself, and jury, and all, 

And solemnly tried the cause. 

But the beggar man would not plead, bat 

cried 
Like a babe without its corals, 
For he knew how hard it is apt to go 
When the law and a thief have quarrels, — 
There was not a Christian soul alive 
To speak a word for his morals. 

Oh, how gaily I doff 'd my costly gear, 

And put on my work-day clothes ; 

I was tired of sucli a long Sunday life, — 

And never was one of the sloths; 

But the beggar man grumbled a weary deal, 

And made many crooked mouths. 

So I haul'd him off to the gallows' foot, 

And blinded him in his bags ; 

'Twas a weary job to heave him up. 

For a doom'd man always lags ; 

But by ten of the clock he was off his legs 

In the^ wind and airing his rags ! 

So there he hung and there I stood. 
The LAST MAN IcCt alive, 
To have my own will ol" all tiie earth : 
Quoth I, now I shall thrive ! 
But when was ever honey made 
With one bee in a hive! 
vol.. I. ^!i 



■>4 " THE LAST MAN." 

My conscience began to knaw my heart, 

Before the day was done, 

For the other men's lives had all gone out, 

Like candles in the sun ! — 

But it seem'd as if I had broke, at last, 

A thousand necks in one ! 

So I went and cut his body down, 

To bury it decentlie ; — - 

God send there were any good soul alive 

To do the like by me ! 

But the wild dogs came with terrible speed, 

And bay'd me up the tree ! 

My sight was like a drunkard's sight, 
And my head began to swim, 
To see their jaws all white with foam, 
J^ike the ravenous ocean-brim; — 
But when the wild dogs trotted away 
Their jaws were bloody and grim ! 

Their jaws were bloody and grim, good Lord ! 

But the beggar man, where was he ? — 

There was nought of him but some ribbons of 

rags 
Below the gallows' tree ! — 
I know the Devil, when I am dead. 
Will send his hounds for me ! — 

I've burled my babies one by one, 
And dug the deep hole for Joan, 
And cover'd the faces of kith and kic. 
And felt the old churchyard stone 
Go cold to my heart, full many a time. 
But I never felt so lone 1 

For the lion and Adam were company, 

And the tiger him lieguil'd ; 

But the shuple kinp are foes to my life, 



THE SEASON. 35o 

And the household brutes are wild. 
If the veriest cur would lick my hand, 
1 could love it like a child I 

And the beggar man's ghost besets my dream, 

At night, to make me madder, — 

And my wretched conscience, Avitliin my breast, 

Is like a stinging adder; — 

I sigh when I pass the gallows' foot, 

And look at the rope and ladder 1 

For hanging looks sweet, — but, alas I in vain. 

My desperate fancy begs, — 

I must turn my cup of sorrows quite up, 

And drink it to the dregs, — 

For there is not another man alive. 

In the world, to pull my legs ! 



THE SEASON. 

Summer's gone and over I 
Fogs are falling down ; 

And with russet tinges 
Autumn's doing brown. 

Boughs are daily rilled 
By the gusty thieves, 

And the Book of Nature 
Getteth short of leaves. 

Round the tops of houses, 
Swallows, as they flit. 

Give, like yearly tenants, 
Notices to quit. 

Skies, of fi< kic f<iii|Kr. 
Wn'p Ity hull , ;iiid l;tiiL! 



35^ LOVE. 

Night and Day together 
Taking half-and-half. 

So September endeth — 
Cold, and most perverse — 

But the Month that follows, 
Sure will pinch us worse ! 



LOVE. 

O Love J what art thou, Love ? the ace of hearts, 
Trumping earth's kings and queens, and all its 
suits ; 

A player, masquerading many parts 

In life's odd carnival ; — a boy that shoots, 

From ladies' eyes, such mortal woundy darts ; 
A gardener, pulling heart's-ease up by the roots ; 

1'he Puck of Passion — partly false — part real — 

A marriageable maiden's " beau ideal." 

O Love ! what art thou. Love ? a wicked thing, 
Making green misses spoil their work at school ; 

A melancholy man, cross-gartering ? 

Grave ripe-faced wisdom made an April fool ? 

A youngster, tilting at a wedding ring ? 
A sinner, sitting on a cuttie stool ? 

A Ferdinand de Something in a hovel, 

Helping Matilda Rose to make a novel ? 

O Love ! what art thou. Love ? one that is bad 
With palpitations of the heart — like mine — 

A poor bewilder'd maid, making so sad 
A necklace of her garters — fell design ! 

A poet, gone unreasonably mad, 

Ending his sonnets with a hempen line ? 

O Love !— but whither, now ? forgive me, pray; 

I'm not the first that Love hath led astray. 



2lr"iM^4^.. 



FAITHLESS SALLY BROWN. ."i 

FAITHLESS SALLY BROWN. 

AN OLD BALL.VD. 

TouxG Ben he was a nice young man, 

A carpenter by trade ; 
And he fell in love with Sally Brown, 

That was a lady's maid. 

But as they fetch'd a walk one day, 

They met a press-rjang crew ; 
And Sally she did faint away, 

Whilst Ben he was brought to. 

The Boatswain swore with wicked words, 

Enough to shock a saint, 
That though she did seem in a fit, 

'Twas nothing but a feint. 

" Come, girl," said he," " hold up your head. 

He'll be as good as me ; 
For when your swain is in our boat, 

A boatswain he will be." 

So when they'd made their game of her, 

And taken oif her elf, 
She roused, and found she only was 

A coming to herself 

" And is he gone, and is he gone ? *' 

She cried, and wept outright: 
" Then I will to the water side, 

And see him out of sight." 

A waterman came up to her, 
" Now, young woman," said he, 

" If you weep on so, you will make 
Eye-water in the sea." 



358 FAITHLESS SALLY BROWN- 

" Alas ! they've taken my beau, Ben, 
To sail with old Benbow; " 

And her woe began to run afresh, 
As if she'd said, Gee woe ! 

Says he, " They've only taken him 
To the Tender-ship, you see ; " 

" The Tender-ship," cried Sally Brown, 
" What a hard-ship that must be ! 

" Oh ! would I were a mermaid now, 

For then I'd follow him ; 
But Oh ! — I'm not a fish- woman. 

And so I cannot swim. 

" Alas ! I was not born beneath 

The virgin and the scales, 
So I must curse my cruel stars. 

And walk about in Wales." 

Now Ben had sail'd to many a place 
That's underneath the world ; 

But in two years the ship came home, 
And all her sails were furl'd. 

But when he call'd on Sally Brown, 

To see how she got on. 
He found she'd got another Ben, 

Whose Christian-name was John. 

" Oh, Sally Brown, Oh, Sally Brown, 
How could you serve me so, 

I've met with many a breeze before, 
But never such a blow ! " 

Then reading on his 'bacco box, 

He heaved a heavy sigh, 
And then began to eye his pipe. 

And then to pipe his eye. 



FAITHLESS XELLY CiKAV. ^j^ 

And then he tried to sing " All's Well* 

But could not, though he tried ; 
His head was turn'd, and so he chew'd 

His pigtail till he died. 

His death, which happen'd in his birtk, 

At Ibrty-odd befell : 
They went and told the sexton, and 

The sexton toll'd the bell. 



FAITHLESS NELLY GRAY. 

A PATHETIC BALLAD. 

Ben Battle was a soldier bold, 
And used to war's alarms ; 

But a cannon-ball took otl" his legs, 
So he laid down his arms ! 

Now as they bore him off the field, 
Said he, " Let others shoot, 

For here I leave my second leg, 
And the Forty-second Foot I " 

The army-surgeons made him limbs : 
Said he, " They're only pegs : 

But there's as wooden members quite, 
As represent my legs ! " 

Now Ben he loved a pretty maid, 
Her name was Nelly Gray; 

So he went to pay her his devours, 
When he devoured his \riy ! 

But when he called on Nelly Gray, 
She made him cjuite a scoll": 



360 FAITHLESS NELLY GRAY. 

And when she saw his wooden legs, 
Began to take them off! 

« Oh, Nelly Gray ! Oh, Nelly Gray 1 

Is this your love so warm? 
The love that loves a scarlet coat 

Should be more uniform ! " 

Said she, " I loved a soldier once, 
For he was blithe and brave , 

But I will never have a man 
With both legs in the grave ! 

" Before you had those timber toes, 

Your love I did allow, 
But then, you know, you stand upon 

Another footing now ! " 

" Oh, Nelly Gray ! Oh, Nelly Gray I 
For all your jeering speeches, 

At duty's call, I left my legs. 
In Badajos's breaches! " 

" Why then," said she, " you've lost the feet 

Of legs in war's alarms, 
And now you cannot wear your shoes 

Upon your feats of arms ! " 

" Oh, false and fickle Nelly Gray ! 

I know why you refuse : — 
Though I've no feet — some other man 

Is standing in my shoes ! 

" I wish I ne'er had seen your face ; 

But, now, a long farewell ! 
For you will be my death ; — alas 

You will not be my Nell 






Now when he went from Nelly Gray, 
His heart so heavy got — 



BIAXCAS DUEAM. ^('\ 

And life, was such a burthen rrrown, 
It made him take a knot 1 

So round his melancholy neck, 

A rope he did entwine, 
And, for his second time in life, 

Enlisted in the Line ! 

One end he tied around a beam. 

And then removed his pejijs, 
And, as his legs were off, — of course, 

He soon was off his legs ! 

And there he hung, till he was dead 

As any nail in town, — 
For, though distress had cut him up, 

It could not cut him down ! 

A dozen men sat on his corpse, 

To find out why he died — 
And they buried Ben in four cross-roads, 

With a stake in his inside I 



BIANCA'S DREAM. 

A VENETLVN STORY. 



B.AXCA ! — fair Bianca ! — who could dwell 
With safety on her dark and hazel gaze. 

Nor find there lurk'd in it a witching spell. 
Fatal to bahnv nights and blessed days ? 

The peaceful breath that made the bosom swell, 
She turn'd to gas, and set it in a blaz<' ; 

Each eye of hers had Love's Eupyrioii ia it, 

That he could light his hnk at iu a miiuUe. 



S!j»2 bianca's dream. 



TI. 

So that, wherevf.r in her charms she shone, 
A thousand breasts were kindled into flame ; 

Maidens who cursed her looks forgot their own, 
And beaux were turn'd to flambeaux where she 
came; 

All hearts indeed were conquer'd but her own, 
Which none could ever temper down or tame : 

In short, to take our haberdasher's hints. 

She might have written over it, — " From Flints." 

III. 
She was, in truth, the wonder of her sex, 

At least in Venice — where with eyes of brown, 
Tenderly languid, ladies seldom vex 

An amorous gentle with a needless frown ; 
Where gondolas convey guitars by pecks, 

And love at casements climbeth up and down, 
Whom for his tricks and custom in that kind, 
Some have considered a Venetian blind. 

IV. 

Howbeit, this difference, was quickly taught. 
Amongst more youths who had tliis cruel jailor, 

To hapless Julio — all in vain he sought 

With each new moon his hatter and his tailor ; 

In vain the richest padusoy he bought. 

And went in bran new beaver to assail her — 

As if to show that Love had made him smart 

All over — and not merely round his heart. 

V. 

In vain he laboured thro' the sylvan park 
Bianca haunted in — that where she came, 

Her learned eyes in wandering might mark 
The twisted cipher of her maiden name. 

Wholesomely going thro' a course of bai'k : 
No one was touch'd or ti'oubled by his flame, 



HIANCA S DltEAM. .".."..l 

Except the Dryads, those old maids that grow 
111 trees, — like wooden dolls in embryo. 

VI. 
In vain complaining eleiries he writ, 

And tjiught his tuneful instrument to irrieve, 
And sano: in quavers how his heart was sj)lit. 

Constant beneath her lattice with each eve ; 
She mock'd his wooin<j witii her wicked wit, 

And slash'd his suit so that it match'd his sleeve, 
Till he grew silent at the vesper star. 
And quite despairing, hamstring'd his guitar. 

vir. 
Bianca's heart was coldly frosted o'er 

With snows unmeltiuf; — an eternal sheet, 
But his was red within him, like the core 

Of old Vesuvius, with perpetual heat ; 
And oft he long'd internally to pour 

His flames and glowing lava at her feet, 
But when his burnings he began to spout, 
!She stopp'd his mouth, and put the crater out. 

viri. 
Meanwhile he wasted in the eyes of men, 

So thin, he seem'd a sort of skeleton-key 
Suspended at death's door— so j)ale— and then 

He turn'd as nervous as an aspen-tree; 
The life of man is threescore years and ten, 

But he was perishing at twenty-three. 
For people truly said, as grief grew stronger, 
*' It could not shorten his poor life— much longer." 

IX. 

For why, he neither slept, nor drank, nor fed. 
Nor relish'd any kind of mirth below ; 

Fire in his lieart,'and frenzy In hi.s head, 
Love had become his universal foe. 

Salt in his su-^ar— nighluiaiv in his bed, 



sni- bianca's dre^m. 

At last, no wonder wretched Julio, 
A sorrow-ridden thing, in utter dearth 
Of hope, — made up his mind to cut her girth I 

X. 

For hapless lovers always died of old. 

Sooner than chew reflection's bitter cud ; 

So Thisbe stuck herself, what time 'tis told. 
The tender-hearted mulberries wept blood ; 

And so poor Sappho, when her boy was cold, 
Drown'd her salt tear drops in a salter flood, 

Their fame still breathing, tho' their breath be pa 

For those old suitors lived beyond their last. 

XI. 

So Julio went to drown, — when life was dull, 
But took his corks, and merely had a bath ; 

And once, he pull'd a trigger at his skull. 
But merely broke a window in his wrath ; 

And once, his hopeless being to annul, 
He tied a pack-thread to a beam of lath, 

A line so ample, 'twas a query whether 

'Tvvas meant to be a halter or a tether. 

XII. 

Smile not in scorn, that Julio did not thrust 
His sorrows thro' — 'tis horrible to die ! 

And come down with our little all of dust, 
That dun of all the duns to satisfy ; 

To leave life's pleasant city as we must, 

In Death's most dreary sponging-house to lie, 

^^''here even all our personals must go 

To pay the debt of Nature that we owe ! 

XIII. 

So Julio lived : — 'twas nothing but a pet 
He took at life — a momentary spite ; 

Besides, he hoped that time would some day get 
The better of love's flame, however bright; 



BIANCAS DliKAM. 365 

A thing that time has never compassM yet, 
For love, we know, is an imnioilal light. 
Like that old fire, that, (juite beyond a doubt, 
>\'as always in, — for none have ibund it out. 

XIV. 

Meanwhile, Bianca dream'd — 'twas once when 
Night 

Along the darken'd plain began to creep, 
Ivike a young Hottentot, whose eyes are bright, 

Altho' in skin as sooty as a sweep : 
The How'rri had shut their eyes — the zephyr light 

Was gone, for it had rock'd the leaves to sleep. 
And all the little birds had laid their heads 
Under their wings — sleeping in feather beds. 

XV. 

Lone in her chamber sate the dark-eyed maid. 
By easy stages jaunting thro' her prayers, 

But list'ning side-long to a seienade, 

That robb'd the saints a little of their shares; 

For .Julio undei-neath the lattice play'd 
Ilis Deh Vieni, and such amorous airs. 

Born only underneath Italian skies, 

Where every fiddle has a Bridge of Sighs. 

XVI. 

Sweet was the tune — the words were even sweeter, 
Praising her eyes, her lips, her nose, her hair, 

AVith all. the common tropes wherewith in metre 
The hackney poets overchaige their tiiir. 

Her shape was like Diana's, but completer; 

Her brow with Grecian Helen's might compare. 

Cupid, alas ! was cruel Sagittarius, 

Julio — the weeping water-man Aquarius. 

XVI T. 

Now, afli'r listing to such landings raie, 
"i'was MMv natural imlfed to go — 



366 bianca's dream. 

What if she did postpone one little pray'r — 
To ask her mirror " if it was not so ? " 

'Twas a large mirror, none the worse for wear, 
Reflecting her at once from top to toe : 

And there she gazed upon that glossy track, 

That show'd her front face tho' it " gave her 
back." 



And long her lovely eyes were held in thrall, 
By that dear page where first the woman reads 

That Julio was no flatt'rer, none at all, 

She told herself — and then she told her beads ; 

Meanwhile, the nerves insensibly let fall 
Two curtains fairer than the lily breeds ; 

For sleep had crept and kiss'd her unawares, 
ust at the half-way milestone of her pray'rs. 

XIX. 

Then like a drooping rose so bended she, 
Till her bow'd head upon her hand reposed ; 

But still she plainly saw, or seem'd to see. 

That fair reflection, tho' her eyes were closed, 

A beauty bright as it was wont to be, 

A portrait Fancy painted while she dozed : 

'Tis very natural, some people say. 

To dream of what we dwell on in the day. 

XX. 

Still shone her face — yet not, alas ! the same, 
But 'gan some di-eary touches to assume. 

And sadder thoughts, with sadder changes came — 
Her eyes resign'd their light, her lips their 
bloom, 

Her teeth fell out, her tresses did the same. 

Her cheeks were tinged with bile, her eyes with 
rheum : 

There was a thi'obbing at her heart witliiii, 

For, oh ! there was a shooting in her •■hiii. 



bianca's dream. 



XXI. 

And lo ! upon her sad desponding brow, 
The cruel trenches of besieging age, 

With seams, but most unseemly, 'gan to show 
Her place was booking for the seventh stage; 

And where her raven tresses used to flovv, 
Some locks that time had left her in his rage, 

And some mock ringlets, made her forehead shady 

A compound (like our Psalms) of tete and braidy. 

XXII. 

Then for her shape — alas ! how Saturn wrecks, 
And bends, and corkscrews all the frame about, 

Doubles the hams, and crooks the straightest necks, 
Draws in the nape, and pushes forth the snout, 

Makes backs and stomachs concave or convex : 
Witness those pensioners call'd In and Out, 

Who all day watching first and second rater, 

Quaintly unbend themselves — but grow no 
straighter. 



So Time with fair Bianca dealt, and made 

Her shape a bow, that once was like an arrow ; 

His iron hand upon her spine he laid, 

And twisted all awry her " winsome marrow." 

In truth it was a change ! — she had obey'd 
The holy Pope before her chest grew narrow, 

But spectacles and palsy seem'd to make her 

Something between a Glassite and a Quaker. 

XXIV. 

Her grief and gall meanwhile were quite extreme, 
And she had ample reason for her trouble ; 

For what sad maiden can endure to seem 
Set in ihr singleness, tho' growing double. 

The fancy maddeuVl her; but now the dream, 
Grown thin Ity getting bigger, like a bubble. 



3GS bianca's bream. 

Burst, — but still left some fragments of its size, 
That, like the soapsuds, smarted in her eyes. 

XXV. 

And here — -just here — as she began to heed 

The real world, her clock chimed out its score j 

A clock it was of the Venetian breed, 

That cried the hour from one to twenty-four ; 

The works moreover standing in some need 
Of workmanship, it struck some dozens more ; 

A warning voice that clench'd Bianca's fears, 

iSuch strokes referring doubtless to her years. 

XXVI. 

At fifteen chimes she was but half a nun, 

By twenty she had quite renounced the veil ; 

She thought of Julio just at twenty-one, 
And thirty made her very sad and pale, 

To paint that ruin where her charms would run; 
At forty all the maid began to fail. 

And thought no higher, as the late dream cross'd 
her, 

Of single blessedness, than single Gloster. 

-. XXVII. 

And so Bianca changed ; — the next sweet even, 
With Julio in a black Venetian bark, 

Row'd slow and stealthily — the hour, eleven. 
Just sounding from the tow'r of old St. Mark 

She sate with eyes turn'd quietly to heav'n, 
Perchance rejoicing in the grateful dark 

That veii'd her blushing cheek, — for Julio brought 
her 

Of course — to break the ice upon the water. 

XXVIII. 

But what a puzzle is one's serious mind 

To open ; — oysters, Avhcn the ice is tliick, 
Are not so dillicult and .disinclined ; 



BIANCA'S DREAM. 309 

And Julio felt the declaration stick 
About his throat in a most awful kind ; 

However, he contrived by bits to pick 
His trouble forth, — much like a rott^m cork 
Groped from a long-neck'd bottle with a fork. 

XXIX. 

But love is still the quickest of all readers ; 

And Julio spent besides those signs profuse 
That English telegi-aphs and foreign pleaders, 

In help of language, are so apt to use, 
Arms, shoulders, fingers, all were interceders, 

JS^ods, shrugs, and bends, — Blanca could not 
choose 
But soften to his suit with more facility, 
He told his story with so much agility. 

XXX. 

" Be thou my park, and I will be thy dear, 
(So he began at last to speak or quote ;) 

Be thou my bark, and I thy gondolier, 
(For passion takes this figurative note ;) 

Be thou my light, and I thy chandeher ; 
Be thou my dove, and I will be thy cote : 

My lily be, and I will be thy river ; 

Be thou my life — and I will be thy liver." 

XXXI. 

This, with more tender logic of the kind. 

He pour'd into her small and shell-like ear. 
That timidly against his hps inclined ; 

Meanwhile her eyes glanced on the silver 
sphere 
That even now began to steal behind 

A dewy vapour, which was lingering near. 
Wherein the dull moon crept all dim and pale, 
Just like a virgin puttmg on the veil:— 

VOL. I. 24 



370 THE DEMON-SHIP. 

XXXII. 

Bidding adieu to all her sparks — the stars, 

That erst had woo'd and worshipp'd in her train, 

Saturn and Hesperus, and gallant Mars — 
Never to flirt with heavenly eyes again. 

Meanwliile, remindful of the convent bars, 
Bianca did not watch these signs in vain, 

But turn'd to Julio at the dark echpse, 

^\ ith words, like verbal kisses, on her lips. 



He took the hint full speedily, and, back'd 

By love, and night, and the occasion's meetness, 

Bestow'd a something on her cheek that smack'd 
(Tho' quite in silence) of ambrosial sweetness ; 

That made her think all other kisses lack'd 

Till then, but what she knew not, of complete- 
ness: 

Being used but sisterly salutes to feel, 

Insipid things — like sandwiches of veal. 

XXXIV. 

He took her hand, and soon she felt him wring 
The pretty fingers all instead of one ; 

Anon his stealthy arm began to cling 

About her waist that had been clasp'd by nono ; 

Their dear confessions I forbear to sing. 

Since cold description would but be outrun ; 

For bliss and Irish watches have the pow'r, 

In twenty minutes, to lose half an hour ! 



THE DEMON-SHIP. 

'TwAS oiTthe Wash — the sun went down — tlicsea 
look'd black and grim, 

For stormy clouds with murky fleece, were muster- 
ing at the brim ; 



THE DEMON-SHIP. 371 

Titanic shades ! enormous gloom ! — as If the solid 

night 
Of Erebus rose suddenly to seize upon the light I 
It was a time for mariners to bear a wary eye, 
With such a dark conspiracy between the sea ami 

sky! 

Down went my helm — close reef 'd — the tack held 

freely in my hand — 
With ballast snug — I put about, and scudded for 

the land. 
Loud hiss'd the sea beneath her lee — my little boat 

flew fast, 
But faster still the rushing storm came borne upon 

the blast. 
Lord ! what a roaring hurricane beset the straining 

sail! 
What furious sleet, with level drift, and fierce 

assaults of hail ! 
What darksome caverns yawn'd before ! what 

jagged steeps behind ! 
Like battle-steeds, with loamy manes, wild tossing 

in the wind. 
Each after each sank down astern, exhausted in the 

chase, 
But where it sank another rose and gallop'd in its 

place ; 
As black as night — they turn'd to white, and ca^t 

against the cloud 
A snowy sheet, as il' each surge upturn'd a sailor's 

shroud : 
Slill flew my boat; alas! alas! her course was 

nearly run ! 
Behold yon fatal billow rise— ten billows heap'd in 

one! 
With fearful speed the dreary mass came rolhng, 

rolling, fast. 
As if the scooping sea contain'd one only wave at 

last! 



372 THE DEMON-SHIP. 

Still on it came, with horrid roar, a swil't pursuing 

grave ; 
It seem'd as though some cloud had turn'd its 

hugeness to a wave ! 
Its briny sleet began to beat beforehand in my 

face — 
I felt the rearward keel begin to climb its swelling 

base ! 
I saw its alpine hoary head impending over mine ! 
Another pulse — and down it rush'd — an avalanche 

of brine ! 
Biuef pause had I, on God to cry, or think of wife 

and home ; 
The waters closed — and when I shriek'd, I shrlek'd 

below the foam ! 
Beyond that rush I have no hint of any after 

deed-^ 
For I was tossing on the waste, as senseless as a 

weed. 

* * * * 

" Where am I ? in the breathing world, or in the 
world of death ? " 

With sharp and sudden pang I drew another birth 
of breath ; 

My eyes drank in a doubtful light, my ears a doubt- 
ful sound — 

And was that ship a real ship whose tackle seem'd 
around ? 

A moon as if the earthly moon, was sliining up 

aloft ; 
But were those beams the very beams that I had 

seen so oft ? 
A face, that mock'd the human face, before me 

watch'd alone ; 
But were those eyes the eyes of man that look'd 

against my own ? 

[a sight 
Oh 1 never may the moon again disclose me such 



THE DEMON-SHIP. 373 

As met my gaze, wlien first I look'd on that accursed 

night ! 
I've seen a thousand horrid shapes begot of fierce 

extremes 
Of fever ; and most frightful things have haunted 

in my dreams — • 
Ilyenas — cats — blood-loving bats— and apes with 

hateful stare, — 
Pernicious snakes, and shaggy bulls — the lion and 

she-bear — 
Strong enemies, with Judas looks, of treachery and 

spite — 
Detested features, hardly dimm'd and banish'd by 

the light ! 

Pale-sheeted ghosts, with gory locks, upstarting 

from their tombs — 
All phantasies and images that flit in midnight 

glooms — 
Hags, goblins, demons, lemures, have made me all 

aghast, — 
But nothing like that Grimly One who stood 

beside the mast ! 

His cheek was black — his brow was black — his 

eyes and hair as dark : 
His hand was black, and where it touch'd, it left 

a sable mark ; 
His throat was black, his vest the same, and when 

I look'd beneath. 
His breast was black— all, all was black, except his 

grinning teeth. 
His sooty crew were like in hue, as black as Afric 

slaves ! i i m 

Oh, horror ! e'en the ship was black that plough d 

the inky waves ! 

" Alas ! " I cried, " for love of truth and blessed 
mercy's sake, 



874 THE DEMON-SHIP. 

Where am I ? in what dreadful ship ? upon what 

dreadful lake ? 
What shape is that, so very grim, and black as any 

coal ? 
It is Mahound, the Evil One, and he has gain'd 

my soul ! 
'Oh. mother dear ! my tender nurse ! dear meadows 

that beguil'd 
My happy days, when I was yet a httle sinless 

child,— 
My mother dear — my native fields, I never more 

shall see : 
I'm sailing in the Devil's Ship, upon the Devil's 

sea ! " 
Loud laugh'd that Sable Mariner, and loudly 

in return 
His sooty crew sent forth a laugh that rang from 

stem to stern — 
A dozen pair of grimly cheeks were crumpled on 

the nonce — 
As many sets of grinning teeth came shining out at 

once : 
A dozen gloomy shapes at once enjoy'd the merry 

fit, 
With shriek and yell, and oaths as well, like demons 

of the Pit. 
They crow'd their fill, and then the Chief made 

answer for the whole ; — 
" Our skins," said he, " are black ye see, because 

we carry coal ; 
You'll find your mother sure enough, and see your 

native fields — 
For this here ship has pick'd you up — the Mary 

Ann of Shields i " 



"^f/:. 



SPRIXG. 375 

SPRING. 

A KEW VERSION. 

Ham. " The air bites shrewdly— it is very cold. 

Hur. It is a nipping and an eager air." H.^joet, 

*' Come, gentle Sprlno; ! ethereal mildness come ! " 
Oh ! Thomson, void of rhyme as well as reason, 

How couldst thou thus poor human nature hum ? 
There's no such season. 

The Spring ! I shrink and shudder at her name 1 
For why, I find her breath a bitter blighter ! 

And suffer from her hloics as if they came 
From Spring the Fighter. 

Her praises, then, let hardy poets sing, 

And be her tuneful laureates and upholders, 

Who do not feel as if they had a Spring 
Pour'd down their shoulders ! 

Let others eulogize her floral shows. 

From me they cannot win a single stanza, 

I know htM- blooms are in full blow — and so's 
The Influenza. 

Her cowslips, stocks, and lilies of the vale. 
Her honey-blossoms that you hear the bees at, 

Her pansies, daflbdils, and primrose pale, 
Are things I sneeze at ! 

Fair is the vernal quarter of the year ! 

And fair its early buddings and its blowings — 
But just suppose Consumption's seeds appear 

With other sowings ! 

For me, I find, when eastern winds are high, 
A frigid, not a genial inspiration : 



876 THE FLOWER. 

Nor can, like Iron-Chested Chubb, defy 
An inflammation. 

Smitten by breezes from the land of plague, 
To me all vernal luxuries are fables, 

Oh ! where's the Spring in a rheumatic leg, 
Stiff as a table's ? 

I limp in agony, — I wheeze and cough ; 

And quake with Ague, that great Agitator ; 
Nor dream, before July, of leaving off 

My Respirator. 

What wonder if in May itself I lack 
A peg for laudatory verse to hang on ? 

Spring mild and gentle ! — yes, a Spring-heeled 
Jack 
To those he sprang on. 

In short, whatever panegyrics lie 

In fulsome odes too many to be cited. 

The tenderness of Spring is all my eye. 
And that is blighted ! 



THE FLOWER. 

Alone, across a foreign plain. 
The Exile slowly wanders, 

And on his Isle beyond the mam 
With sadden'd spirit ponders : 

This lovely Isle beyond the sea, 
With all its household treasures ; 

Its cottage homes, its merry birds, 
And all its rural pleasures : 



THE SEA-SPELL. 37, 

Its leafy woods, its shady vales, 

]ts moors, and purple heather ; 
Its verdant fields hedeck'd with stars 

Ilis ( hildhood loved to gather : 

When lo ! he starts, with glad surprise, 
Hoine-joys come rushing o'er him. 

For " modest, wee, and crimson-tipp'd," 
lie spies the flower before him ! 

With eager haste he stoops him down, 

His eyes with moisture hazy, 
And as he plucks the simple bloom, 

He murmurs, " Lawk-a-daisy ! " 



THE SEA-SPELL. 

" Caiild, cauld, he lies beneath the deep." 
Old Scotch Ballad. 

It was a jolly mariner ! 

The tallest man of three, — 

He loosed his sail against the wind, 

And turn'd his boat to sea : 

The ink-black sky told every eye, 

A storm was soon to be ! 

But still that jolly mariner 

Took in no reef at all,_ 

For, in his pouch, confidingly, 

He wore a baby's caul ; 

A thing, as gossip-nurses know, 

That always brings a squall ! 

His hat was new, or, newly glazed, 
Shone brightly in the sun ; 
His jacket, like a mariner's, 



378 THE SEA-SPELL. 

True biuc as e'er was spun ; 

His ample trousers, like Saint Paul, 

Bore forty stripes save one. 

And now the fretting foaming tide 

He steer'd away to cross ; 

The bounding pinnace play'd a game 

Of dreary pitch and toss ; 

A game that, on the good dry land, 

Is apt to bring a loss ! 

Good Heaven befriend that little boat, 

And guide her on her way ! 

A boat they say, has canvas wings, 

But cannot fly away ! 

Though, like a merry singing-bird. 

She sits upon the spray ! 

Still south by east the little boat, 

With tawny sail, kept beating : 

Now out of sight, between two 'vsraves. 

Now o'er th' horizon fleeting; 

Like greedy swine that feed on mast, — 

The waves her mast seem'd eating ! 

The sulken sky grew black above. 

The wave as black beneath ; 

Each roaring billow show'd full soon 

A white and foamy wreath ; 

Like angry dogs that snarl at first, 

And then display their teeth. 

The boatman look'd against the wind. 

The mast began to creak, 

The wave, per saltum, came and dried, 

In salt upon his cheek ! 

The pointed wave against him rear'd, 

As if it own'd a pique ! 



THE SEA-SPELL. 37S 

Nor rushing wind, nor gushing wave, 

The boatman could alarm, 

But still he stood away to sea, 

And trusted in his charm ; 

He thought by purchase he was safe, 

And arm'd against all harm ! 

Now thick and fast and far aslant, 
The stormy rain came pouring, 
He heard, upon the sandy bank. 
The distant breakers roaring, — 
A groaning intermitting sound, 



The sea-fowl shriek'd around the mast, 

A-head the grampus tumbled. 

And far off, from a copper cloud. 

The hollow thunder rumbled ; 

It would have quail'd another heart, 

But his was never humbled. 

For why ? he had that infant's caul ; 
And wherefore should he dread ? 
Alas ! alas ! he little thought, 
Before the ebb-tide sped,— 
That, like that infant, he should die. 
And with a watery head ! 

The rushing brine flowed in apace ; 

His boat had ne'er a deck : 

Fate seem'd to call him on, and he 

Attended to her beck ; 

And so he went, still trusting on, 

Though reckless— to his wreck ! 

For as he left his helm, to heave 

The ballast bags a-weather. 

Three monstrous seas came roanng on, 



380 THE SEA-SPELL. 

Like lions leagued together. 

Tbe first two waves the little boat 

Swam over like a feather, — 

The firet two waves were past and gone, 

And sinking in her wake ; 

The hugest still came leaping on, 

And hissing like a snake. 

Now helm a-lee ! for through the midst, 

The monster he must take ! 

Ah me ! it was a dreary mount ! 

Its base as black as night, 

Its top of pale and livid green, 

Its crest of awful white, 

Like Neptune with a leprosy, — 

And so it rear'd upright ! 

With quaking sails the little boat 
Climb'd up the foaming heap ; 
With quaking sails it paused awhile, 
At balance on the steep ; 
Then, rushing down the nether slope, 
Plunged with a dizzy sweep 1 

Look, how a horse, made mad with fear, 

Disdains his careful guide ; 

So now the headlong headstrong boat, 

Unmanaged, turns aside. 

And straight presents her reeling flank 

Against the swelling tide ! 

The gusty wind assaults the sail ; 
Her ballast lies a-lee ! 
The sheet's to windward taut and stiff, 
Oh ! the Lively — where is she ? 
Her capsized keel is in the foam, 
Her pennon's in the sea! 



A SAILOR S APOLOGY FOR BOW-LEGS. 3Sl 

The wild gull, sailing overhead, 
Three times beheld emerge 
The head of that bold mariner, 
And then she screamed his dirge ! 
For he had sunk within his grave, 
Lapp'd in a shroud of surge ! 

The ensuing wave, with horrid foam, 
Rushed o'er and covered all. 
The jolly boatman's drowning scream 
Was smother'd by the s(iuall, 
Heaven never heard his cry, nor did 
The ocean heed his caul. 



0^" 



u. J-'&^Ca^iK. 



A SAILOR'S APOLOGY FOR BOW-LEGS 

There's some is born with their straight legs by 

natur — 
And some is born with bow-legs from the first — 
And some that should have grow'd a good deal 
straighter, 

But they were badly nurs'd. 
And set, you see, like Bacchus, with their pegs 

Astride of casks and kegs ; 
I've got myself a sort of bow to larboard, 

And starboard, 
And this is what it was that warp'd my legs. — 

'Twas all along of Poll, as I may say. 
That foul'd my cable when I ought to slip ; 
But on the tenth of May, 
AV'hen I gets under weigh, 
Down there in Hartfordshire, to join my ship, 
I sees the mail 
Get under sail, 
The only one there was to make the trip. 



382 A SAILOR S APOLOGY FOR BOW-LEGS. 

Well — I gives chase. 
But as she run 
Two knots to one, 
There warn't no use in keeping on the race I 

Well— casting round about, what next to try on, 

And how to spin, 
T spies an ensign with a Bloody Lion, 
And bears away to leeward for the inn, 

Beats round the gable, 
And fetches up before the coach-horse stable : 
Well — there they stand, four kickers in a row, 

And so 
I just makes free to cut a brown *un's cable. 
But riding isn't in a seaman's natur — 
So I whips out a toughish end of yarn. 
And gets a kind of sort of a land-waiter 
To splice me, heel to heel, 
Under the she-mare's keel. 
And off I goes, and leaves the inn a-starn ! 

My eyes ! how she did pitch ! 
And wouldn't keep her own to go in no line, 
Tho' I kept bowsing, bowsing at her bow-line, 
But always making lee-way to the ditch, 
And yaw'd her head about all sorts of ways. 

'The devil sink the craft ! 
And wasn't she trimendous slack in stays ! 
We couldn't, no how, keep the inn abaft ! 

Well — I suppose 
We hadn't run a knot — or much beyond — 
(\A'^hat will you have on it ?) — but off she goes, 
Up to her bends in a fresh-water pond ! 

There I am ! — all a-back ! 
So I looks forward for her bridle-gears, 
. To heave her head round on the t'other tack ; 

But when I starts. 

The leather parts. 
And goes away right over by the ears ! 



A SAILORS APOLOGY FOR BOW-LEGS S^^i 

What could a fellow do, 
Whose legs, like mine, you know, were in tliu bil- 
boes, 
But trim myself upright for bringing-to, 
And square his yard-arms, and brace up his (jlhows, 

In rig all snug and clever, 
Just while Ills craft was taking in her AvaterV 
I didn't like my burth tho', howsomdevei-, 
Because the yarn, you see, kept getting tauter, — 
Says I — I wish this job was rather shorter ! 

The chase had gain'd a mile 
A-hcad, and still the she-mare stood a-drinking * 

Now, all the while 
Her body didn't take of course to shrinking. 
Says I, she's letting out her reefs, I'm thinking — 

And so she swell'd, and swell'd, 

And yet the tackle held, 
Till both my legs began to bend like winkin. 
My eyes ! but she took in enough to founder ! 
And there's my timbers straining every bit, 

Ready to split, 
And her tarnation hull a-growing rounder ! 

Well, there — off Hartford Ness, 
We lay both lash'd and water-logg'd together. 

And can't contrive a signal of distress ; 
Thinks I, we must ride out this here ibul weather, 
Tho' sick of riding out — and nothing less ; 
When, looking round, 1 sees a man a-starn : — 
Hollo ! says I, come underneath her quarter ! — 
And hands him out my knife to cut the yarn. 
So I gets olf, and lands upon the road. 
And feaves the she-mare to her own consarn, 

A-stand? ng by tli^ water. 
If I set on another, I'll be blow'd ! — 
And ^that's the way, you see, my legs got bow'd I 

/J a : ^-^ "■< 



51'^ 4 THE BACHELORS DREAM. 



THE BACHELOE'S DREAM. 

]My pipe is lit, my grog is mix'd, 
My curtains drawn and all is snug; 
Old Puss is in her elbow-chair, 
And Tray is sitting on the rug. 
Last night I had a curious dream, 
Miss Susan Bates was Mistress Mogg — 
What d'ye think of that, my Cat '? 
What d'ye think of that, my Dog ? 

She look'd so fair, she sang so well, 
I could but woo and she was won. 
Myself in blue, the bride in white. 
The ring was placed, the deed was done f 
Away we went in chaise-and-four, 
As fast as grinning boys could flog — 
What d'ye think of that, my Cat ? 
What d'ye think of that, my Dog ? 

What loving tete-k-tetes to come 1 
But t6te-a-tetes must still defer ! 
When Susan came to live with me, 
Her mother came to live with her ! 
With sister Belle she couldn't part. 
But all 7ny ties had leave to jog — 
What d'ye think of that, my Cat? 
What d'ye think of that, my Dog ? 

The mother brought a pretty Poll — 
A monkey too, what work he made ! 
The sister introduced a Beau — 
My Susan brought a favourite maid. 
She had a tabby of her own,— 
A snappish mongrel christen'd Gog — 
What d'ye think of that, my Cat ? 
What d'ye think of that, my Dog V 



tup: liACIIF.LOIj'S DRKAM. SS.J 

The Monkey bit — the Parrot scream'd, 
All day the sister strumm'd and sung ; 
The petted maid was such a scold ! 
Mr Susan learn'd to use her tongue; 
Her mother had such wretched health, 
She sate and croak'd like any frog — 
What d'ye think of that, my Cat? 
What d'ye think of that, my Dog? 

No longer Deary, Duck, and Love, 
I soon came down to simple " M ! " 
The very servants cross'd my wish, 
My Susan let me down to them. 
The poker hardly seem'd my own, 
I might as Avell have been a log — 
What d'ye think of that, my Cat ? 
What d'ye think of that, my Dog ? 

My clothes they were the queerest shape ! 
Such coats and hats she never met ! 
My ways they were the oddest ways ! 
My friends were such a vulgar set ! 
Poor Tomkinson was snubb'd and huff 'd, 
She could not benr that Mister Blogg— 
What d'ye think of that, my Cat ? 
What d'ye think of that, my Dog ? 

At times we had a spar, and then 
Mama must mingle in the song— 
The sister took a sister's part— 
The Maid declar'd her Master ^'i;f5ng-- 
inie Parrot learn'd to call me " I ool ! 
Mv life was like a London fog— ^ 
W'hat d'ye think of that, my Cat ; 
What d'ye think of that, my Dog .'' 

Mv Susan's taste was superfine. 

As proved by bills that had no end— 

/ never had a decent (.out— 



VOL. I. 



25 



386 THE WEE MAN. 

/ never had a coin to spend ! 
She forced me to resign ray Club, 
Lay down my pipe, retrench my grog- 
What d'ye think of tllat, my Cat ? 
What d'ye think of that, my Dog ? 

Each Sunday night we gave a rout 
To fops and flirts, a pretty hst ; 
And when I tried to steal away, 
I found my study full of whist ! 
Then, first to come and last to go. 
There always was a Captain Hogg — 
What d'ye think of that, my Cat ? 
What d'ye think of that, my Dog ? 

Now was not that an awful dream 
For one who single is and snug — 
With Pussy in the elbow-chair 
And Tray reposing on the rug? 
If I must totter down the hill, 
'Tis safest done without a clog — 
What d'ye think of that, my Cat ? 
What d'ye think of that, my Dog ? 



THE WEE MAN. 

A ROMANCE. 

It was a merry company. 
And they were just afloat, 

When lo ! a man, of dwarfish span, 
Came up and hail'd the boat. 

" Good morrow to ye, gentle folks, 
And Avill you let me in ?~ 

A slender space Avill serve my case, 
For I am small and thin." 



THE WEE MAN. 387 

Thtiv saw he was a dwarfish man, 

And very small and thin ; 
Not seven such would matter much, 

And so they took* him in. 

They laugh'd to see his little hat, 

With such a narrow brim ; 
They laugh'd to note his dapper coat. 

With skirts so scant and trim. 

But barely had they gone a mile 

When, gravely, one and all, 
At once began to think the man 

Was not so very small. 

His coat had got a broader skirt. 

His hat a broader brim, 
His leg grew stout, and soon plump'd out 

A very proper limb. 

Still on they went, and as they went, 

More rough the billows grew. 
And rose and fell, a greater swell. 

And he was swelling too ! 

And lo ! where room had been for seven, 

For six there scarce was space ! 
Yor five !— for four '.—for three '.—not more 

Than two could find a place ! 

There was not even room for one ! 

They crowded by degrees — 
Ay— closer yet, till elbows met. 

And knees were jogging knees. 

" Good sir, you must not sit a-stern. 

The wave will else come in 1" 
Without a word he ,lIra^ely st.rrd, 

Another seat to Avin. 



388 ETCHING MORALIZED. 

" Good sir, the boat has lost her trim, 

You must not sit a-lee ! " 
With smilincy face, and courteous grace, 

The middle seat toak he. 

But still, by constant quiet growth, 

His back became so wide. 
Each neighbour wight, to left and right, 

Was thrust against the side. 

Lord ! how they chided with themselves. 

That they had let him in ; 
To see him grow so monstrous now, 

That came so small and thin. 

On every brow a dew-drop stood, 
They grew so scared and hot, 

" I' the name of all that's great and tall, 
Who are ye, sir, and what ? " 

Loud laugh'd the Gogmagog, a laugh 

As loud as giant's roar — 
" When first I came, my proper name 

Was Little — now I'm Moore ! " 



ETCHING MORALIZED. 

TO A NOBLE LADY. 

" To point amoral." — Johnson. 

Fairest Lady and Noble, for once on a time, 
Condescend to accept, in the humblest of rhyme, 

And a style more of Gay than of Milton, 
A few o]i])ortuiie verses design'd to impart 
Some (lida'-tiral iiints iii a Needlt^work Art, 

Not dcoiiibcd by the Countess of Wilton. 



KTCHING MOKALIZKD. o'^O 

An Art not unknown to the delicate hand 
Of the fairest and first in this insular land, 

But in Patronage Royal delightino-; 
And which now your own feminine fantasy wins, 
Tlio' it scarce seems a lady-like Avork that begins 

In a scratching and ends in a hiiing ! 

Yet oh ! that the dames of the Scandalous School 
Would but use the same acid, and sharp-pointed 
tool, 

That are plied in the said operations — [sketch I 
Oh ! would that our Candours on copper would 
For the first of all things in beginning to etch 

Are — good grounds for our representations. 

Those protective and delicate coatings of wax, 
Which are meant to resist the corrosive attacks 

That would ruin the copper completely ; 
Thin cerements which whoso remembers the Bee 
So applauded by Watts, the divine LL. D., 

Will be careful to spread very neatly. 

For why ? like some intricate deed of the law, 
Should the ground in the process be left witli a 
flaw. 

Aquafortis is far from a joker ; 
And attac-king the part that no coating protects, 
Will turn out as distressing to all your effects 

As a landlord who puts in a broker. 

Then carefully spread the conservative stuff, 
Until all the bright metal is cover'd enough. 

To repel a destructive so active ; 
For in P:tching, as well as in Morals, pray note 
That a little raw spot, or a hole in a coat, 

Your ascetics find vastly attractive. 

Thus the ground being laid, very even and flat. 
And then smoked with a taper, till black as a hat, 



390 ETCHING MORALIZED. 

Still from future disasters to screen it, 
Just allow me, by way of precaution, to state, 
You must hinder the footman from changing your 
plate^ 

Nor yet suifer the butler to clean it. 

Nay, the Housemaid, perchance, in her passion to 

scrub, 
May suppose the dull metal in want of a rub, 
Like the Shield which Swift's readers remem- 
ber — 
Not to mention the chance of some other mis- 
haps, 
Such as having your copper made up into caps 
To be worn on the First of September. 

But aloof from all damage by Betty or John, 
You secure the vell'd surface, and trace thereupon 

The design you conceive the most proper : 
Yet gently, and not with a needle too keen. 
Lest it pierce to the wax through the paper be- 
tween, 

And of course play Old Scratch with the copper 

So in worldly affairs, the sharp-practising man 
Is not always the one who succeeds in his plan, 

Witness Shylock's judicial exposure ; 
Who, as keen as his knife, yet with agony found, 
That while urging his point he was losing hia 
ground^ 

And incurring a fatal disclosure. 

But, perhaps, without tracing at all, you may 

choose 
To indulge in some little extempore views, 

Like the old artistical people ; 
For example, a Corydon playing his pipe. 
In a Low Country marsh, with a Cow after Cuyp, 

And a Goat skipping over a steeple. 



ETCHING MORALIZED. 391 

A wild Deer at a rivulet taking a sup, 
With a couple of pillars put in to fill up, 

Like the columns of certain diurnals; 
Or a very brisk sea, in a very stiff gale, 
And a very Dutch boat, with a very big sail — 

Or a bevy of Retzsch's Lifernals. 

Architectural study — or rich Arabesque — 
Allegorical dream — or a view picturesque, 

l^ear to Naples, or Venice, or Florence ; 
Or " as harmless as lambs and as gentle as doves," 
A sweet family cluster of plump little Loves, 

Like the Children by Reynolds or Lawrence. 

But whatever the subject, your exquisite taste 
Will ensure a design very charming and chaste, 

Like yourself, full of nature and beauty — 
Yet besides the good points you already reveal, 
You will need a few others — of well temper'd steel, 

And especially form'd for the duty. 

For suppose that the tool be imperfectly set, 
Over many iveak lengths in your line you will fret, 

Like a pupil of Walton and Cotton, 
Who remains by the brink of the water, agape. 
While th-e jack, trout, or barbel, efiects its escape 

Thro' the gut or silk line being rotten. 

Therefore let the steel point be set truly and round. 
That the finest of strokes may be even and sound, 

Flowing glibly where fancy would lead 'em. 
But alas !^for the needle that fetters the hand. 
And forbids even sketches of Liberty's land 

To be drawn with the requisite freedom ! 

Oh ! the botches I've seen by a tool of the sort, 
Rather hitching than etching, and making, in short, 

Such stiff, crabbed, and angular scratches. 
That the figures seem'd statues or mummies from 
tombs. 



392 ETCHING MORALIZED. 

While the trees were as rigid as bundles of brooms, 
And the herbage like bunches of matches ! 

The stiff clouds as if carefully iron'd and starch'd, 
While a cast-iron bridge, meant for wooden, o'er- 
arch'd 

Something more like a road than a river. 
Prythee, who in such characteristics could see 
Any trace of the beautiful land of the free — 

The Free-Mason — Free-Trader — Free-Liver ! 

But prepared by a hand that is skilful and nice, 
The fine point glides along like a skate on the ice, 

At the will of the Gentle Designer, 
Who impelling the needle just presses so much, 
That each line of her labour the copper may touch, 

As if done by a penny-a-liner. 

And behold ! how the fast-growing images gleam ! 
Like the sparkles of gold in a sunshiny stream, 

Till perplex'd by the glittering issue, 
You repine for a light of a tenderer kind — 
And in choosing a substance for making a blind, 

Do not sneeze at the paper call'd tissue. 

For, subdued by the sheet so transparent and white 
Your design will appear in a soberer light, 

And reveal its defects on inspection, 
Just as Glory achieved, or political scheme, 
And some more of our dazzling performances seem 

Not so bright on a cooler rejlection. 

So the Juvenile Poet with ecstasy views 

His first verses, and dreams that the songs of his 

Muse 
( Are as brilliant as Moore's, and as tender — ) 
Till some critical sheet scans the faulty design, 
And alas ! takes the shine out of every line 

That had form'd such a vision of splendour. ^ 



ETCHING MORALIZED. V>[)'^ 

Certain objects, however, may come in your sketch, 
Which, de.sian'd by a hand unaccnstom'M to etch, 

With a luckless result may be branded ; 
Wherefore add this particular rule to your code, 
Let all vehicles take the wronfi side of the road. 

And man, woman, and child, be left-handed. 

Yet refjard not the awkward appearance with 

doubt, 
But remember how often mere blessings fall out. 

That at first seem'd no better than curses ; 
So, till things take a turn., live in hope, and depend 
That whatever is wrong will come right in the end. 

And console you for all your reverses. 

But of errors why speak, when for beauty and 

truth. 
Your free, spirited Etching is worthy, in sooth, 

Of that Club (may all honour betide it!) 
Which, tho' dealing in copper, by genius and taste, 
Has accomplished a service of plate not disgraced 

By the work of a Goldsmith beside it ! * 

So your sketch superficially drawn on the plate, 
It becomes you to fix in a permanent state. 

Which involves a precise operation. 
With a keen biting fluid, which eating its wag — 
As in other professions is common they say — 

Has attaiu'd an artistical station. 

And it's oh ! that some splenetic folks I could name 
If they ?7iust deal in acids would use but the same, 

In such innocent graphical labours ! 
In the place of the virulent spirit wherewith — 
Like the polecat, the weasel, and things of that 
kith— 

They keep biting the backs of their neighbours ' 

♦ The Deserted Village. Illustrated by the liLtching Club. 



394 ETCHING MORALIZED. 

But beforehand, with wax or the shoemaker's 

pitch, 
You must build a neat dyke round the margin, in 
which 
You may pour the dilute aquafortis. 
For if raw, like a dram, it will shock you to trace. 
Your design with a horrible froth on its face. 
Like a wretch in articulo mortis. 

Like a wretch in the pangs that too many endure, 
From the use of strong waters, without any pure, 

A vile practice, most sad and improper ! 
For, from painful examples, this warning is found. 
That the raw burning spirit will take up the ground^ 

In the churchyard, as well as on copper ! 

But the Acid has duly been lower'd, and bites 
Only just where the visible metal invites, 

Like a nature inclined to meet troubles ; 
And behold ! as each slender and glittering line 
Effervesces, you trace the completed design 

In an elegant bead- work of bubbles ! 

And yet, constantly, secretly, eating its way, 
The shrewd acid is making the substance its prey, 

Like some sorrow beyond inquisition, 
Which is gnawing the heart and the brain all the 

while 
That the face is illumined by its cheerfullest smile, 

And the wit is in bright ebullition. 

But still stealthily feeding, the treacherous stuff 
Has corroded and. deepened some portions 
enough — 
The pure sky, and the water so placid — 
And these tenderer tints to defend from attack. 
With some turpentine, varnish, and sooty lamp- 
black 
You must stop out the ferreting acid. 



ETCHING MORALIZED. 395 

But before with the varnishing brush you proceed, 
Let the plate with cold water be thoroughlj freed' 

From the other less innocent liquor — 
After which, on >yhatever you want to protect, 
Put a coat that will act to that very effect, 

Like the black one that hangs on the Vicar. 

Then the varnish well dried — urge the biting 
again, 

But how long at its meal the eau forte may re- 
main, 
Time and practice alone can determine : 

But of course not so long that the Mountain, and 
Mill, 

The rude Bridge, and the Figures, whatever you 
will. 
Are as black as the spots on your ermine. 

It is true, none the less, that a dark -looking scrap, 
With a sort of Blackheath, and Black Forest, may- 
hap. 

Is considered as rather Rembrandty ; 
And that very black cattle, and very black sheep, 
A black dog, and a shepheixl as black as a sweep 

Are the pets of some great Dilettante. 

So with certain designers, one needs not to name, 
All this life is a dark scene of sorrow and shame, 

From our birth to our final adjourning — 
Yea, this excellent earth and its glories, alack ! 
\\'hat with ravens, palls, cottons, and devils, aa 
black 

As a Warehouse for Family Mourning ! 

But before your own picture arrives at that pitch. 
While the lights are still light, and the shadows 
though rich. 
More transparent than ebony shutters. 
Never minding what Black-Arted critics may say, 



306 death's ramble. 

Stop the biting, and pour the green tluicl away, 
As you please, into bottles or gutters. 

Then removing the ground and the wax at a heat, 
Cleanse the surface with oil, spermaceti, or sweet — ■ 

For your hand a performance scarce proper — 
80 some careful pi-ofessional person secure — 
For^the Laundress will not be a safe amateur — 

To assist you in cleaning the copper. 

And, in truth, 'tis a rather unpleasantish job. 
To be done on a hot German stove, or a hob — 

Though as sure of an instant forgetting 
When — as after the dark clearing off of a storm — 
The fair, landscape shines out in a lustre as warm 

As the glow of the sun in its setting ! 

Thus your Etching complete, it remains but to hint, 
That with certain assistance Irom paper and print, 

Which the proper Mechanic will settle, 
You may charm all your Friends — without any sad 

tale 
Of such perils and ills as beset Lady Sale — 

With a fine India Proof of your Metal. 



DEATH'S RAIVIBLE. 

One day the dreary old King of Death 
Inclined for some sport with the carnal, 

So he tied a pack of darts on his back, 
And quietly stole from his charneL 

His head was bald of flesh and of hair, 

His body was lean and lank. 
His joints at each stir made a crack, and the cur 

Took a gnaw, by the way, at his shank. 



death's ramble. 397 

And what did he do with his deadly darts, 

This goblin of grisly bone ? 
lie dabbled and spIU'd man's blood, and he Idll'd 

Like a butcher that kills his own. 

The first he slaughter'd it made him laugh, 

(For the man was a coffin-maker,) 
To think how the mutes, and men in black suits, 

Would mourn for an undertaker. 

Death saw two Quakers sitting at church, 

CJuoth he, " We shall not differ." 
And he let them alone, like figures of stone, 

For he could not make them stiffer. 

He saw two duellists going to fight. 

In tear they could not smother; 
And he shot one through at once — for he knew 

They never would shoot each other. 

He saw a watchman fast in his box, 

And he gave a snore infernal ; 
Said Deatli, " He may keep his breath, for his sleep 

Can never be more eternal." 

He met a coachman driving his coach 

So slow, that his fare grew sick; 
But he let him stray on his tedious way, 

For Death only wars on the quick. 

Death saw a tollman taking a toll. 

In the spirit of his fraternity ; 
But he knew that sort of man would extort. 

Though summon'd to all eternity. 

' He found an author writing his life, 
But he let him write no further; 
For Death, who strikes whenever he likes, 
Js jealous ot all self-murther ! 



398 THE PROGRESS OF ART. 

Death saw a patient that pull'd out his purse, 

And a doctor that took the sum ; 
But he let them be — for he knew that the " fee 

Was a prelude to '' faw " and " fura." 

He met a dustman ringing a bell, 
And he gave him a mortal thrust ; 

For himself, by law, since Adam's flaw, 
Is contractor for all our dust. 

He saw a sailor mixing his grog, 

And he mark'd him out for slaughter ; 

For on water he scarcely had cared for Death, 
And never on rum-and-water. 

Death saw two players playing at cards, 
But the game wasn't worth a dump, 

For he quickly laid them flat with a spade, 
To wait for the final trump I ' 



THE PROGRESS OF ART. 

O HAPPY time ! Art's early days ! 

When o'er each deed, with sweet self-praiso, 

Narcissus-like I hung ! 
When great Rembrandt but little seem'd, 
And such Old Masters all were deem'd. 

As nothing to the young ! 

Some scratchy strokes — abrupt and few, 
So easily and SAvift I drew, 

Sufficed for my design ; 
My sketcliy, superficial hand, 
Drew sohds at a dash — and sptinn'd 

A surface with a line. 



THE PROGRESS OF ART. 39? 

Not long my eye was thus content, 
But grew more critical — my bent 

EssayM a higher walk ; 
I copied leaden eyes in lead — 
Rheumatic hands in white and red, 

And gouty feet — in chalk. 

Anon my studious art for days 
Kept making faces — happy phrase, 

For faces such as mine ! 
Accomplish'd in the details then, 
I left the minor parts of men, 

And drew the form divine. 

Old Gods and Heroes — Trojan — Greek, 
Figures — long after the antique, 

Great Ajax justly fear'd; 
Hectors, of whom at night I dreamt. 
And Nestor, fringed enough to tempt 

Bird-nesters to his beard. 

A Bacchus, leering on a bowl, 
A Pallas, that out-stared her owl, 

A Vulcan — very lame ; 
A Dian stuck about with stars. 
With my right hand I murder'd Mars — 

(One AVilliams did the same.) 

But tired of this dry work at last, 
Crayon and chalk aside I cast, 

And gave my brush a drink ? 
Dipping — " as when a painter dips 
In gloom of earthquake and eclipse," — 
'^ That is— in Indian ink. 

Oh then, what black Mont Blancs arose, 
Crested Avith soot, and not with snows : 

Wluit cloul< of dingy hu.- ! 
In spite of what the bard h;is pcini'd, 



4')0 THE PROGRESS OF ART. 

I fear the distance did not " lend 
Enchantment to the view." 

Not Kadch'ffe's brush did e'er design 
Black Forests, half so black as mine. 

Or lakes so like a pall ; 
The Chinese cake dispersed a ray 
Of darkness, like the light of Day 

And Martm over all. 

Yet urchin pride sustain'd me still, 
I gazed on all with right good will, 

And spread the dingy tint ; 
*' No holy Luke help'd me to paint, 
The Devil surely, not a Saint, 

Had any finger in't ! " 

But colours came ! — like morning light, 
With gorgeous hues displacing night, 

Or Spring's enliven'd scene : 
At once the sable shades withdrew ; 
My skies got very, very blue ; 

My trees extremely green. 

And wash'd by my cosmetic brush, 
How Beauty's cheek began to blush ; 

With lock of auburn stain — 
(Not Goldsmith's Auburn) — nut-brown hair, 
That made her loveliest of the fair ; 

Not " loveliest of the plain ! " 

Her lips were of vermilion hue ; 
Love in her eyes, and Prussian blue. 

Set all my heart in flame ! 
A young Pygmalion, I adored 
The maids I made — but time was stored 

With evil — and it came ! 

Perspective dawnM- -and soon I saw 
My houses stand against its law ; 



A FAIRY TALK. 4i)\ 

And " keeping " all imkept ! 
My Ijeauties were no longer things 
For love and fond imaginings; 

But horrors to be wept ! 

Ah ! why did knowledge ope my eyes ? 
Why did I get more aitist-wise ? 

It only serves to hint, 
What grave defects and wants are mine ; 
That I'm no Hilton in design — 

In nature no Dewint ! 

Thrice happy time ! — Art's early days ! 
When o'er each deed with sweet self-praise, 

Narcissus-like I hung ! 
When great Rembrandt but little seem'd, 
And such Old Masters all were deem'd 

As nothing to the young ! 



A FAIRY TALE. 

On Hounslow heath — and close beside the road, 
As western travellers may oft have seen, — 
A little house some years ago there stood, 

A minikin abode ; 
And built like Mr. Birkbeck's, all of wood ; 
The walls of white, the window-shutters green ; — 
Four wheels it had at North, South, East, and West, 

(Tho' now at rest) 
On which it used to wander to and fro. 
Because its master ne'er maintain'd a rider. 
Like those who trade in Paternoster Row ; 
But made his business ti-avel for itself. 

Till he had made his pelf, 
And then retired — if one may call it so, 

Of a roadsider. 

VOL. I, 20 



402 A FAIRY TALE. 

Perchance, the very race and constant riot 
Of stages, long and short, which thereby ran, 
Made hhn more rehsh the repose and quiet 

Of his now sedentary caravan ; 
Perchance, he loved the ground because 'twas 
common. 
And so he might impale a strip of soil, 

That furnish'd, by his toil. 
Some dusty greens, for him and his old woman ;— 
And five tall hollyhocks, in dingy flower. 
Howbeit, the thoroughfare did no ways spoil 
His peace, — unless, in some unlucky hour, 
A stray horse came and gobbled up his bow'r ! 

But, tired of always looking at the coaches, 
The same to come, — -when they had seen them one 
day! 
And, used to brisker life, both man and wife 
Began to suffer N U E's approaches, 
And feel retirement like a long wet Sunday, — 
So, having had some quarters of school-breeding. 
They turn'd themselves, like other folks, to reading ; 
But setting out where others nigh have done, 
And being ripen'd in the seventh stage, 

The childhood of old age. 
Began, as other children have begun, — 
Not with the Pastorals of Mr. Pope, 

Or Bard of Hope, 
Or Paley ethical, or learned Person, — 
But spelt, on Sabbaths, in St. Mark, or John, 
And then relax'd themselves with Whittiugton, 

Or Valentine and Orson — 
BiTt chiefly fairy tales they loved to con, 
And being easily melted, in their dotage, 

Slobber'd, — and kept 

Reading, — and wept 
Over the White Cat, in their wooden cottage. 

Thus reading on — the longer [stronger 

They read, of course, their childish faith grew 



A FAIRY TALE. 403 

In Gnomes, and Hags, and Elves, and Giants 

grim,— 
If talking Trees and Birds reveal'd to him. 
She saw the flight of Fairyland's fly-wagons, 

And magic-fishes swim 
In puddle ponds, and took old crows for dragons, — 
Both were quite drunk from the enchanted flagons; 
When, as it fell upon a summer's day, 
As the old man sat a feeding 

On the old babe-reading. 
Beside his open street-and-parlour door, 

A hideous roar 
Proclaim'd a drove of beasts was coming by the way. 

Long-horn'd, and short, of many a different breed, 
Tall, tawny brutes, from famous Lincoln-levels, 

Or Durham feed. 
With some of those unquiet black dwarf devils 

From nether side of Tweed, 

Or Firth of Forth ; 
Looking half wikl with joy to leave the North, — 
With dusty hides, all mobbing on together, — • 
"Wlien^ — whether from a Ay's malicious comment 
Upon his tender flank, from which he shrank ; 

Or whether 
Only in some enthusiastic moment, — 
However, one brown monster, in a frisk. 
Giving his tail a perpendicular whisk, 
Kick'd out a passage thro' the beastly rabble ; 
And after a pas seul,— or, if you will, a 
Horn-pipe before the Basket-maker's villa, 

Leapt o'er the tiny pale,— 
Back'd his beef-steaks against the wooden gable, 
And thrust his brawny bell-rope of a tail 

Right o'er the page. 

Wherein the sage 
Just then was spelling some romantic fable 

The old man, half a scholar, half a dunce. 



404 A FAIRY TALE. 

Could not peruse, — who could ? — two tales at 
once ; ) 

And being huff'd 
At what he knew was none of Riquet's Tuft, 

Bang'd-to the door, 
But most unluckily enclosed a morsel 
Of the intruding tail, and all the tassel : — 

The monster gave a roar, 
And bolting off with speed, increased by pam. 
The little house became a coach once more, 
And, like Macheath, " took to the road " again I 

Just then, by fortune's whhnsical decree, 
The ancient woman stooping with her crupper 
Towards sweet home, or where sweet home should 

be, 
Was getting up some household herbs for supper : 
Thoughtful of Cinderella, in the tale, 
And quaintly wondering if magic shifts 
Could o'er a common pumpkin so prevail, 
To turn it to a coach, — what pretty gifts 
Might come of cabbages, and curly kale : 
Meanwhile she never heard her old man's wail. 
Nor turn'd, till home had turn'd a corner, quite, 
Gone out of sight ! 

At last, conceive her, rising from the ground, 
AY eary of sitting on her russet clothing ; 
And looking round 
Where rest was to be found. 
There was no house — no villa there — no nothing. 
No house ! 
The change was quite amazing ; 
It made her senses stagger for a minute. 
The riddle's explication seem'd to harden ; 
But soon her superannuated nous 
Explained the horrid mystery ; — and raising 
Her hand to heaven, with the cabbage in it, 
On which she meant to sup, — 



THE TURTLES. 405 



•' Well! this is Faiij Work ! I'll bet a farden, 
Little Pnnee Silverwings has ketcli'd me up, 
And set me down in some one else's garden ! " 



THE TURTLES. 

A FABLE. 

" The rage of the vulture, the love of the turtle." 

Byron. 

One day, it was before a civic dinner, 

Two London Aldermen, no matter which, 
Cordwainer, Girdler, Patten-maker, Skinner — 

But both were florid, corpulent, and rich, 
And both riirht fond of festive demolition, 

Set forth upon a secret expedition. 
Yet not, as might be fancied from the token, 

To Pudding- Lane, Pie Corner, or the Street 
Of Bread, or Grub, or anything to eat. 
Or drink, as ]Milk, or Vintry, or Portsoken, 
But eastward to that more acjuatic quarter, 

Where folks take water, 
Or bound on voyages, secure a berth 
For Antwerp or Ostend, Dundee or Perth, 
Calais, Boulogne, or any Port on earth ! 

Jostled and jostling, through the mud, 

Peculiar to the Town of Lud, 
Down narrow streets and crooked lanes they dived, 

Past many a gusty avenue, through which 

Came yellow fog, and smell of pitch. 
From barge, and boat, and dusky wliarf derived ; 
With darker fumes, brought, eddying by the 
draught. 

From loco-smoko-motive craft ; 



40G THE TURTLES. 

JMinglinfr witli scents of butter, cheese, and gam- 
mons, 
Tea, coffee, sugar, pickles, rosin, wax, 
Hides, tallow, Russia-matting, hemp and flax, 
Salt-cod, red-herrings, sprats, and kipper'd salmons, 

Nuts, oranges, and lemons. 
Each pungent spice, and aromatic gum, 
Gas, pepper, soaplees, brandy, gin, and rum ; 
Alamode-beef and greens — the London soil — 
Glue, coal, tobacco, turpentine, and oil, 
Bark, assafoetida, squills, vitriol, hops, 
In short, all whiffs, and sniffs, and puffs, and snuffs, 
From metals, minerals, and dyewood stuffs, 
Fruits, victual, drink, solidities, or slops — 
In flasks, casks, bales, trucks, wagons, taverns, 

shops, 
Boats, lighters, cellars, wharfs, and warehouse- 
tops, 
That, as we walk upon the river's ridge. 
Assault the nose — below the bridge. 

A walk, however, as tradition tells. 
That once a poor blind Tobit used to choose, 
Because, incapable of other views. 

He met with " such a sight of smells." 

But on, and on, and on. 
In spite of all unsavoury shocks, 

Progress the stout Sir Peter and Sir John, 
Steadily steering ship-like for the docks — • 
And now they reach a place the Muse, unwilling, 
Kccalls for female slang and vulgar doing. 
The famous Gate of BiUing 
That does not lead to cooing-^— 
And now they pass that House that is so ugly 
A Customer to people looking smuggl'y — 
And now along that fatal Hill they pass 
Where centuries ago an Oxford bled, 
And proved— too late to save his life, alas ! — 
That he was " off his head." 



THE TURTLES. 407 

-At last before a lofty brick-built pile 

Sir Peter stopp'd, and with mysterious smile 

Tin filled a bell that served to bring 

The wire-drawn genius of the ring, 

A species of commercial Samuel Weller — 

To whom Sir Peter, tipping him a wink, 

And something else to drink, 

" Show us the cellar." 

Obsequious bow'd the man, and led the way 
Down sundry flights of stairs, where windows small, 
Dappled with mud, let in a dingy ray — 
A dirty tax, if they were tax'd at all. 
At length they came into a cellar damp. 
With venerable cobwebs fringed around, 

A cellar of that stamp 
Which often harbours vintages renown'd, 
The feudal Hock, or Burgundy the courtly, 

With sherry, brown or golden, 

Or port, so olden. 
Bereft of body 'tis no longer portly — 

But old or otherwise — to be veracious 

That cobwebb'd cellar, damp, and dim, and spacious. 

Held nothing crusty — but crustaceous. 

Prone on the chilly floor. 
Five splendid turtles — such a five ! 
Natives of some AVest Indian shore 

AVere flapping all alive. 
Late landed from the Jolly Planter's yawl— 
A sight whereon the dignitaries fix'd 
Their eager eyes, with ecstasy unmlx'd. 
Like fathers that behold their infants crawl, 
Enjovin;! every little kick and sprawl. 
jS'ay— flir from fatherly the thouglits they bred, 
Poor loggerheads from far Ascension ferried! 
The aldTrmen too plainly wish'd them dead 

And Aldermanbury'd ! 
" There ! " cried Sir Peter, with an air 



408 THE TURTLES. 

Triumphant as an ancient victor's, 
And pointing to the creatures rich and rare, 
" There's picters ! " 

" Talk of Olympic Games ! They're not worth 

mention ; 
The real prize for wrestling is when Jack, 

In Providence or Ascension, 
Can throw a Hvely turtle on its back ! " 

" Ay ! " cried Sir John, and with a score of 

nods, 
Thoughtful of classical symposium, 

" There's food for Gods ! 
There's nectar ! there's ambrosium ! 
There's food for Roman Emperors to eat — 

Oh, there had been a treat 
(Those ancient names will sometimes hobble us) 

For Helio-gobble-us 1 " 

" There were a feast for Alexander's Feast ! 
The real sort — none of your mock or spurious ! " 
And then he mention'd Aldermen deceased. 

And " Epicurius," 
And how Tertullian had enjoy'd such foison ; 
And speculated on that verdigrease 

That isn't poison. 

" Talk of your Spring, and verdure, and all that 1 

Give me green fat ! 
As for your Poets with their groves of myrtles 

And billing turtles. 
Give me, for j)oetry, them Turtles there, 

A-billing in a bill of fare ! 

" Of all the things I ever swallow — ■ 
Good, well-dress'd turtle beats them hollow — - 
It almost makes me wish, I vow, 
To have two stomachs, like a cow ! " 



THE TURTLES. 409 

And lo! as with the cud, an inward thrill 
Upheaved his waistcoat and disturb'd his frill, 
His mouth was oozing and he work'd his jaw — 
" 1 almost think that I could eat one raw ! " 

And thus, as " inward love breeds outward talk," 
The portly pair continued to discourse ; 
And then — as Gray describes of life's divorce, — 
With " longing lingering look " prepared to 

walk, — 
Having thro' one delighted sense, at least, 
Enjoy'd a sort of Barmecidal feast. 
And with prophetic gestures, strange to see, 
Forestall'd the civic Banquet yet to be, 
Its callipash and callipee ! 

A pleasant prospect — but alack ! ^ 
Scarcely each Alderman had turn'd his back, 
When seizing on the moment so propitious,^ 
And having learn'd that they were so delicious 

To bite and sup, 
From praises so high tlown and injudicious,— 

And nothing could be more pernicious ! 
The turtles fell to work, and ate each other up I 



liloral. 
Never, from folly or urbanity. 
Praise people thus profusely to their faces, 
Till quite in love with their own graces, 
They're eaten up by vanity ! 



410 THE DESERT-BORN. 



THE DESERT-BOIIN. 

" riy to the desert, fly with me." 

Lady Hester Stanhope. 

'TwAS in the wilds of Lebanon, amongst its barren 

hills,— 
To think upon it, even now, my very blood it 

chills !— 
My sketch-book spread before me, and my pencil 

in my hand, 
I gazed upon the mountain range, the red tumult- 
uous sand. 
The plumy palms, the sombre firs, the cedars tall 

and proud,- — 
When lo ! a shadow pass'd across the paper like a 

cloud, 
And looking up I saw a form, apt figure for the 

scene, 
Methought I stood in presence of some oriental 



The turban on her head was white as any driven 

snow ; 
A purple bandalette past o'er the lofty brow 

below. 
And thence upon her shoulders fell, by either 

jewell'd ear ; 
In yellow folds voluminous she wore her long 

cachemere ; 
Whilst underneath, with ample sleeves, a Turkish 

robe of silk 
Envelop'd her in drapery the colour of new 

milk ; 
Yet oft it floated wide in front, disclosing under- 
neath 
A goro-eous Persian tunic, rich with many a 

broider'd wreath, 



THE DESERT-BOllN. 4 1 1 

Compell'd by clasps of costly pearl around her 

netk to meet — 
And yellow as the amber were the buskins on 

her feet ! 

Of course I bow'd my lowest bow — of all the things 

on earth, 
The reverence due to loveliness, to rank, or ancient 

birth, 
To pow'r, to wealth, to genius, or to any thing 

uncommon, 
A man should bend the lowest in a Desert to a 

Woman ! 
Yet some strange influence stronger still, though 

vague and undefined, 
Compell'd me, and with magic might subdued my 

soul and mind ; 
I There was a something in her air that drew the 

spirit nigh, 
Beyond the common witchery that dwells in 

woman's eye ! ^ 
With reverence deep, like any slave of that pecu- 
liar land, 
f boAv'd my forehead to the earth, and kissel ilie 

arid sand ; 
And then I touched her garment's hem, devoutly 

as a Dervise, [vice. 

Predestinated (so I felt) for ever to her ser- 

Nor was I wrong In auguring thus my fortune 

from her face. 
She knew me, seemingly, as well as any of her 

race ; , , 

<' Welcome ! " she cried, as I uprose submissive to 

my feet ; • i • 

"It was ordain'd that you and T should in this 

desert meet ! 
Ay, ages since, before thy soul had burst its 

prison bars, 



412 IHE DESERT-BORN. 

This interview was promised in the language of 

the stars ! " 
Then clapping, as the Easterns wont, her all- 

comraanding hands, 
A score of mounted Arabs came fast spurring o'er 

the sands, 
Nor rein'd they up their foaming steeds till in my 

very face 
They blew the breath impetuous, and panting from 

the race. 
*' Fear nought," exclaim'd the radiant one, as I 

sprang off aloof, 
" Thy precious frame need never fear a blow from 

horse's hoof! 
Thy natal star was fortunate as any orb of 

birth, 
And fate hath held in store for thee the rarest gift 

of earth." 
Then turning to the dusky men, that humbly 

waited near, 
She cried, " Go bring the Beautiful — for lo I 

the Man is here ! " 

Off went th' obsequious train as swift as Arab 

hoofs could flee. 
But fancy fond outraced them all, with bridle 

loose and free, 
And brought me back, for love's attack, some fair 

Circassian bride. 
Or Georgian girl, the Harem's boast, and fit for 

sultan's side ; 
Methougbt I lifted up her veil, and saw dark eyes 

beneath. 
Mild as gazelle's, a snowy brow, ripe lips, and 

pearly teeth, 
A swanlike neck, a shoulder round, full bosom, 

and a waist 
Not too compact, and rounded limbs, to oriental 

taste. 



THE DESERT-BORN. 113 

Methouglit— but Lere, alas ! alas ! the airy dream 

to blight, 
Behold tlie Arabs leading up a mare of milky 

Avhite ! 
To tell the truth, without reserve, evasion, or 

remorse. 
The last of creatures in my love or liking is a 

horse : 
Whether in early youth some kick untimely laid 

me flat, 
Whether from born antipathy, as some dislike 

a cat, 
I never yet could bear the kind, from Meux's 

giant steeds 
Down to those little bearish cubs of Shetland's 

shaggy breeds ; — 
As for a Ava'rhorse, he that can bestride one is a 

hero, 
Merely to look at such a sight my courage sinks 

to zero. 
With lightning eyes, and thunder mane, and 

hurricanes of legs, 
Tempestuous tail— to ' picture him descrij^iloa 

vainly begs ! 
His fiery nostrils send forth clouds of smoke 

instead of breath — 
Nay, was it not a Horse that bore the grisly Shape 

of Death ? 
Judge then how cold an ague-fit of agony was 

mine 
To see the mistress of my fate, imperious, make 

a sign 
To which my own forebodmg soul the cruel sense 

supplied : 
"Mount, happy man, and rwi aicay with your 

Arabian bride ! " ... 

Grim was the smile, and tremulous the voice wim 

which I spoke, , [a joko, 

I ike anv one's when jesting with a subject not 



414 THE DESERT-BORN. 

So men have trifled with the axe before the fatal 

stroke. 

" Lady, if mine had been the luck in Yorkshire 

to be born, 
Or any of its ridings^ this would be a blessed 

morn ; 
But, hapless one ! I cannot ride — there's something 

in a horse 
That I can always honour, but I never could 

endorse — 
To speak still more commercially, in riding I am 

quite [sight : 

Averse to running long, and apt to be paid off at 
In legal phrase, for every class to understand me 

still, 
I never was in stirrups yet a tenant but at will_; 
Or, if you please, in artist terms, I never went 

a-straddle 
On any horse without 'a want of keeping' in the 

saddle. 
In short," and here I blush'd, abash'd and held my 

head full low, 
"I'm one of those whose infant ears have heard 

the chimes of Bow ! " 

The lady smiled, as houris smile, adown from 

Turkish skies, 
And beams of cruel kindness shone within ner 

hazel eyes ; 
" Stranger," she said, " or rather say, my nearest, 

dearest friend. 
There's something in your eyes, your air, and that 

high instep's bend, 
That tells me you're of Arab race, — whatever spot 

of earth, 
Cheapside, or Bow, or Stepney, had the honour of 

your birth, [changed at nurse 

The East it Is your country ! Like an Infant 



THE DESERT-BORN. 41) 

By fairies, you have undergone a nurtiii-t'.ship 

perverse ; 
But this — these desert sands — these pahns, and 

cedars waving wild, 
All, all, adopt thee as their own — an oi-itii'al 

child— 
The cloud may hide the sun awhile — but soon or 

late, no doubt, 
The spirit of your ancestry will burst and sparkle 

out! 
I read the starry characters — and lo ! 'tis written 

there, 
Thou wert foredoom'd of sons of men to ride 

upon this Mare, 
A Mare till now was never back'd by one of 

mortal mould, 
Hark, how she neiglis, as if for thee she knew that 

she was foal'd ! " 

[simoom 
And truly — I devoutly wish'd a blast of the 
Had stilled her ! — the Mare herself appeared to 

mo(;k my doom ; 
With many a bound she caper'd round and round 

me like a dance, 
I fear'd indeed some wild caress would end the 

fearful prance. 
And felt myself, and saw myself— the phantasy 

was horrid ! — 
Like old Redgauntlet, with a shoe imprinted on 

my forehead ! 
On bended knees, with bowing head, and hands 

upraised in pray'r, 
1 bef^g'd the turban'd" Sultaness the issue to for- 
bear ; 
I painted weeping orphan babes, around a Avidow'd 

wife. 
And drew mv death as vividly as others draw from 

lif\3 . ' [feats unlit, 

" Behold," 'l said, "a simple man, for such high 



416 THE DESERT-BORN. 

Who never yet has learn'd to know the crupper 
from the bit, 

Whereas the boldest horsemanship, and first eques- 
trian skill, 

Would well be task'd to bend so wild a creature 
• to the will." 

Alas ! alas ! 'twas all in vain, to supplicate and 
kneel. 

The quadruped could not have been more cold to 
my appeal ! 

" Fear nothing," said the smiling Fate, " when 

human help is vain, 
Spirits shall by thy stirrups fly, and fairies guide 

the rein ; 
Just glance at yonder animal, her perfect shape 

remark. 
And in thy breast at once shall glow the oriental 

spark ! 
As for thy spouse and tender babes, no Arab 

roams the wild 
But for a Mare of such descent, would barter wife 

and child." 

" Nay then," cried I — (Heav'n shrive the lie !) 

" to tell the secret truth, 
'Twas my unhappy fortune once to over-ride a 

youth ! 
A pla^'ful child,— so full of life !— a little fair- 
haired boy. 
His sister's pet, his father's hope, his mother's 

darling joy ! 
Ah me ! the frantic shriek she gave ! I hear it ring- 

mg now ! [vow ; 

That hour upon the bloody spot, I made a holy 
A solemn compact, deeply sworn, to witness my 

remorse. 
That never more these limbs of mine should mount 

on livino; horse ! " 



THE dp:sert-born. 417 

Good Heav'n ! to see the angry glance that llash'd 
upon me now ! 

A chill ran all my marrow through — the drops were 
on my brow ! 

I knew my doom, and stole a glance at that ac- 
cursed Mare, 

And there she stood, with nostrils wide, that snuff J 
the sultry air. 

How lion-like she lash'd her flanks with her abun- 
dant tail ; 

While on her neck the stormy mane kept tossing 
to the gale ! 

How fearfully she roll'd her eyes between the earth 
and sky, 

As if in wild uncertainty to gallop or to fly ! 

While with her hoof she scoop'd the sand as if 
before she gave 

My plunge into eternity she meant to dig my 



And [, that ne'er could calmly bear a horse's ears 

at play — 
Or hear without a yard of jump his shrill and 

sudden neigh — 
Whose foot within a stable door had never stood 

an inch — 
Whose hand to pat a living steed would feel an 

awful flinch, — 
I t)»at had never thrown a leg across a pony small, 
To scour the pathless desert on the tallest of tlie 

tall! 
For oh ! it is no fable, but at ev'ry look I cast, 
llcr restless legs seem'd twice as long as when I 

saw them last 1 

In agony I shook,— and yet, although congealed by 

fears. 
My blood avus boiling fast, to judge from noises in 

in\' cars ; 



418 THE DESERT-BORN. 

I gasp'd as If in vacuo, and thrilling with despair, 
Some secret Demon seem'd to pass his fingers 

through my hair. 
I could not stir — I could not speak — I could not 

even see — 
A sudden mist rose up between that awful Maro 

and me, — 
I tried to pray, but found no words — tho' ready 

ripe to weep, 
No tear would flow, — o'er ev'ry sense a swoon 

began to creep, — 
When lo ! to bring my horrid fate at once unto tho 

brunt, 
Two Arabs seized me from behind, two others in 

the front, 
And ere a muscle could be strung to try the strife 

forlorn, 
I found myself, Mazeppa-like, upon the Desert- 

Born ! 

Terrific was the neigh she gave, the moment that 
my weight 

Was felt upon her back, as if exulting In her 
freight ; 

Whilst dolefully I heard a voice that set each nerve 
ajar,— 

*' Off with the bridle — quick ! — and leave his guid- 
ance to his star ! " 

" Allah ! 11 Allah ! " rose the shout, and starting 
with a bound, 

The dreadful Creature clear'd at once a dozen 
yards of ground ; 

And grasping at her mane with both my cold con- 
vulsive hands, 

Away we flew — away ! away ! across the shifting 
sands ! 

My eyes were ^.')o,sed in nl t<^r ''•■ead of :^ucli a fear- 
ful race, 



THE DESERT-BORX. 419 

But yet by certain signs I knew we went no earthh 

pace, ^ 

For turn whichever way we might, the wind with 

equal force 
Rush'd like a torrid hurricane still adverse to our 

course — 
One moment close at hand I heard the roarin(» 

Syrian Sea, ° 

The next it only murmur'd like the humming of a 

bee ! 
And when I dared at last to glance across the wild 

immense, 
Oh ne'er shall I forget the whirl that met the dizz) 

sense ! 
What seem'd a little sprig of fern, ere lips could 

reckon twain, 
A palm of forty cubits high, we passed it on the 

plain ! 
What tongue could tell, — what pencil paint, — what 

pen describe the ride ? 
Now oil" — now on — now up — now down, — and flung 

from side to side ! 
I tried to speak, but had no voice, to soothe Ikt 

with its tone — 
My scanty breath was jolted out with many a sud- 
den groan — 
My joints were rack'd — my back was strain'd, so 

firmly I had clung — 
My nostrils "gush'd, and thrice my teeth had bitten 

through my tongue — 
When lo ! — farewell all hope of life ! — she turn'd 

and faced the rocks. 
None but a flying horse could clear those monstrous 

gi-anite blocks ! 
So thought I,— but I little knew the desert pride 

and fire, 
Derived from a most deer-like dam, and lion- 
hearted sire; ['>0"»'i 
Little 1 Kuess'd the eneriiy of imiseli , blood and 



420 THE DESERT-BORN. 

Bound after bound, with eager springs, she clear'd 
each massive stone ; — • 

Nine mortal leaps were pass'd before a huge gray 
rock at length 

Stood planted there as if to dare her utmost pitch 
of strength — 

My time was come ! that granite heap my monu- 
ment of death ! 

She paused, she snorted loud and long, and drew a 
fuller breath ; 

Nine strides and then a louder beat that v/arn'd 
me of her spring, 

I felt her rising in the air like eagle on the wing — 

But oh ! the crash ! — the hideous shock ! — the mil- 
lion sparks around ! 

Her hindmost hoofs had struck the crest of that 
prodigious mound ! 

Wild shriek'd the headland Desert-Born — or else 
'twas demons' mirth, 

One second more, and Man and Mare roll'd breath- 
less on the earth ! 
* * * * 

How long it was I cannot tell ere I revived to 

sense. 
And then but to endure the pangs of agony in- 
tense ; 
For over me lay powerless, and still as any stone, 
The Corse that erst had so much fire, strength, 

spirit, of its own. 
My heart was still — my pulses stopp'd — midway 

'twixt life and death. 
With pain unspeakable I fetch'd the fragment of a 

breath, 
Not vital air enough to frame one short and feeble 

sigh, 
1 et even that I loath'd because it would not let me 

die. 
Oh I slowly, slowly, slowly on, from starry night 

till morn. 



LOVE LANE. 42J 

Time flapp'd along, with leaden win^, across tliat 

waste forlorn ! 
I cursed the hour that brought me first within this 

world of strife — 
A sore and heavy sin it is to scorn the gift of life— 
But who hath felt a horse's weight oppress hia 

labouring breast ? 
Why any who has had, like me, the Xight Mark 

on his chest. 

LOVE LANE. 

If I should love a maiden more, 
And woo her ev'ry hope to crown, 
I'd love her all the country o'er, 
But not declare it out of town. 

One even, by a mossy bank, 
That held a hornet's nest within, 
To Ellen on my knees I sank, — 
How snakes will twine around the shin 1 

A bashful fear my soul unnerved, 
And gave my heart a backward tug ; 
Nor was I cheer'd when she observed, 
Whilst I was silent,—" What a slug ! " 

At length my offer I preferr'd, 
And Hope a kind reply forebode— 
Alas ! the only sound I heard 
Was, " What a horrid ugly toad 1 " 

I vow'd to give her all my heart. 
To love her till my life took leave, 
And painted all a lover's smart— 
Except a wasp gone up his sleeve < 



i22 LOVE LANE. 

But when I ventured to abide 
Her father's and her mother's grants — > 
Sudden, she started up, and cried, 
" O dear ! I am all over ants ! " 

Nay when beginning to beseech 
The cause that led to my rebuff, 
The answer was as strange a speech, 
A " Daddy-Longlegs sure enough ! *' 

I spoke of fortune — house, — and lands 
And still renew'd the warm attack, — 
*Tis vain to offer ladles hands 
That have a spider on the back ! 

'Tis vain to talk of hopes and fears. 
And hope the least reply to win. 
From any maid that stops her ears 
In dread of earwigs creeping in ! 

'Tis vain to call the dearest names 
Whilst stoats and weasels startle by — 
As vain to talk of mutual flames. 
To one with glowworms in her eye ! 

"What check'd me in my fond address, 
And knock'd each pretty image down ? 
What stopp'd my Ellen's faltering Yes ? 
A caterpillar on her gown ! 

To list to Philomel is sweet — 
To see the Moon rise silver-pale, — 
But not to kneel at Lady's feet 
And crush a rival in a snail ! 

Sweet is the eventide, and kind 
Its zephyr, balmy as the south ; 
But sweeter still to speak your mind 
Without a chafer in your mouth ! 



DOMESTIC POEMS. 423 

At last, embolden VI by my bliss, 

Still tickle Fortune play'd me tbul, 

For when I strove to snatch a kiss 

She scream'd — by proxy, through an owl ? 

Then, Lovers, doom'd to life or death, 
Shun moonlight, twilight, lanes, and bats. 
Lest you should have in self-same breath 
To bless your fate — and curse the gnats ! 



■4Z 



je^r'<'"'i 



DOMESTIC POEMS. 

" It's hame, hame, hame." — A. Ccnningham. 
" There's no place like home." — Clari. 



I. 

HYMENEAL RETROSPECTIONS. 

O Kate ! my dear Partner, through joy and through 
strife ! 

"When I look back at Hymen's dear day. 
Not a lovelier bride ever changed to a wife. 

Though you're now so old, wizen'd, and gray! 

Those eyes, then, were stars, shining rulers of fate 

But as liquid as stars in a poolj 
Though now they're so dim, they appear, m}' dear 
" Kate, 

Just like gooseberries boil'd for a fool ! 

That brow was like marble, so smooth and so* fair: 
Though it's wrinkled so crookedly now, 

A-s if Tmie, when those furrows were made by the 
share, 
Had been tipsy whilst driving his plough 1 



424 DOMESTIC POEMS. 

Your nose. It was such as the sculptors all chose, 
When a Venus demanded their skill ; 

Though now it can hardly be reckon'd a nose, 
But a sort of Poll-Par roty bill ! 

Tour mouth, it was then quite a bait for the bees, 
Such a nectar there hung on each hp ; 

Though now it has taken that lemon-like squeeze, 
Not a blue-bottle comes for a sip ! 

Your chin, it was one of Love's favourite haunts, 
From its dimple he could not get loose ; 

Though now the neat hand of a barber it wants, 
Or a singe, like the breast of a goose ! 

How rich were those locks, so abundant and full, 
With their ringlets of auburn so deep ! 

Though now they look only like frizzles of wool, 
By a bramble torn off from, a sheep ! 

That neck, not a swan could excel it In grace. 
While in whiteness it vied with your arms : 

Though now a grave 'kerchief you properly 
place, 
To conceal that scrag-end of yorur charms ! 

Your figure was tall, then, and perfectly straight. 
Though it now has two twists from upright — 

But bless you ! still bless you ! my Partner ! my 
Kate ! 
Though you be such a perfect old fright ! 



II. 

" THE SUN WAS SLUMBERING IN THE WEST. 

The sun was slumbering in the West, 

My daily labours past ; 
On Anna's soft and o-entle breast 



DOMESTIC POEMS. 425 

My head reclined at last ; 
The darkness closed around, so dear 

To fond congenial souls, 
And thus she murmur'd at my ear, 

" My love, we're out of coals ! " 

♦ • That Mister Bond has call'd again, 

Insisting on his rent ; 
And all the Todds are coming up 

To see us, out of Kent ; — 
1 quite forgot to tell you John 

Has had a tipsy fall ; — 
I'm sure there's something going on 

With that vile Mary Hall ! "— 

" Miss Bell has bought the sweetest silk, 

And I have bought the rest — 
Of course, if we go out of town, 

Southend Avill be the best. 
I really think the Jones's house 

Would be the thing for us ; — 
I think I told you Mrs. Pope 

Had parted with her nus " 

" Cook, by the way, came up to-day, 

To bid me suit myself — 
And what d'ye think V the rats have gnaw'd 

The victuals on the shelf, — 
And, lord ! there's such a letter come, 

Inviting you to fight ! 
Of course you don't intend to go — 

God bless you, dear, good night ! " 

III. 

A PARENTAL ODE TO MY SON, AGED THREE YEARS AKD 
FIVE MONTHS. 

Thou happy, happy elf! 
(But stop,— first let me kiss awiiy that tear)— 



426 DOMESTIC POEMS. 

Thou tiny image of myself! 
(My love, he's poking peas into his ear !) 

Thou merry, laughing sprite ! 

With spirits feather-light, 
Untouch'd by sorrow, and unsoil'd by sin — 
(Good heavens ! the child is swallowing a pin !) 

Thou little tricksy Puck ! 
With antic toys so funnily bestuck, 
Light as the singing bird that wings the air — 
(The door ! the door ! he'll tumble down the stair !) 

Thou darhng of thy sire ! 
(Why, Jane, he'll set his pinafore a-fire !) 

Thou imp of mirth and joy ! 
In Love's dear chain so strong and bright a link, 
Thou idol of thy parents — (Drat the boy 1 

There goes my ink !) 

Thou cherub —but of earth ; 
Fit playfellow for Fays, by moonlight pale, 

In harmless sport and mirth, 
(That dog will bite him if he pulls its tail !) 

Thou human humming-bee, extracting honey 
From ev'ry blossom in the world that blows, 

Singing in Youth's Elysium ever sunny, 
(Another tumble ! — that's his precious nose !) 

Thy father's pride and hope ! 
(He'll break the mirror with that skipping-rope !) 
With pure heart newly stamp'd from Nature's 

mint — 
(Where did he learn that squint ?) 

Thou young domestic dove ! 
(He '11 have that jug off, with another shove !) 

Dear nurseling of the Hymeneal nest ! 

(Are those torn clothes his best ?) 

Little epitome of man I 
(He'll climb upon the table, that's his plan !) 
Touch'd with the beauteous tints of dawning life — 

(He's got a knife !) 



DOMESTIC POEMS. 427 

Thou enviable being ! 
No storms, no clouds, in thy blue sky foreseeing, 

Phiy on, play on, 

JSIy elfin John ! 
Toss the light ball — bestride the stick — 
(I knew so many cakes would make him sick !) 
With fancies, buoyant as the thistle-down. 
Prompting the face grotesque, and antic brisk, 

With many a lamb-like frisk, 
(lie's got the scissors, snipping at your gown !) 

Thou pretty opening rose ! 
(Go to your mother, child, and wipe your nose !) 
Balmy and breathing music like the South, 
(He really brings my heart into my mouth !) 
Fresh as the morn, and brilliant as Its star, 
(I wish that window had an iron bar !) 
Bold as the hawk, yet gentle as the dove, — 

(I'll tell you what, my love, 
I cannot -sk-rite, unless he's sent above !) 



IV. 

A SERENADE. 

"Lullaby, oh, lullaby!" 
Thus I heard a father cry, 

" Lullaby, oh, lullaby ! 
The brat will never shut an eye ; 
Hither come, some power divine ! 
Close his lids, or open mine ! " 

" Lullaby, oh, lullaby ! 
W^hat the devil makes him cry ? 

Lullaby, oh, lullaby ! 
Still he stares— I wonder why, 
Why are not the sons of earth 
Bliiid, like puppies, from the birth V 



428 A PLAIN DIRECTION. 

" Lullaby, oh, lullaby ! " 
Thus I heard the father cry ; 

" Lullaby, oh, lullaby ! 
Mary, you must come and try ! — • 
Hush, oh, hush, for mercy's sake — 
The more I sing, the more you wake I 

" Lullaby, oh, lullaby ! 
Fie, you little creature, fie ! 

Lullaby, oh, lullaby ! 
Is no poppy-syrup nigh ? 
Give him some, or give him all, 
I am nodding to his fall ! " 

" Lullaby, oh, lullaby ! 
Two such nights, and I shall die ! 

Lullaby, oh, lullaby ! 
He'll be bruised, and so shall I, — 
How can I from bedposts keep, 
When I'm walking in my sleep ? " 

"Lullaby, oh, lullaby! 
Sleep his very looks deny — 

Lullaby, oh, lullaby ; 
Nature soon will stupefy — 
My nerves relax, — my eyes grow dim— 
Who's that fallen — me or him '? " 



A PLAIN DIRECTION. 

" Do you never deviate? " — John Bull. 

In London once I lost my way 
In fariiii; to and fro. 



And ask'd a little ragged boy 
The way that I should go ; 



A PLAIN DIRECTION. 429 

He gave a nod, and then a wink, 
And told me to get there 
" Straight down the Crooked Lane, 
And all round the S(iuare." 

I box'd his little saucy ears, 

And then away I strode ; 

But since I've'found that weary path 

Is quite a common road. 

Utopia is a pleasant place, 

But how shall I get there ? 

" Straight down the Crooked Lane, 

And ail round the Square." 

I've read about a famous town 

That drove a famous trade, 

Where Whittington walk'd up and found 

A fortune ready made. 

The very streets arc paved with gold ; 

But hoAV shall I get there? 

" Straight down the Crooked Lane, 

And all round the Square." 

I've read about a Fairy Land, 

In some romantic tale, 

Where Dwarfs if good are sure to thrive 

And wicked Giants fail. 

]My wish is great, my shoes are strong, 

But how shall I get there ? 

" Straight down the CrooJvcd Lane, 

And all round the Square." 

I've heard about some happy Isle, 

AVhere every man is free, 

And none can lie in bonds for lite 

For want of L. S. D. 

Oh ! that's the laud of Liberty I 

But how shall I get there ? 

'^ Strai-ht down the Crooked Lane, 

And ail round the Squiue.'* 



A PLAIN DIRECTIOiV. 

I've dreamt about some blessed spot, 

Beneath the blessed sky, 

Where Bread and Justice never rise 

Too dear for folks to buy. 

It's cheaper than the Ward of Cheap, 

But how shall I get there ? 

" Straight down the Crooked Lane, 

And all round the Square." 

They say there is an ancient House, 

As pure as it is old, 

Where Members always speak their minds^ 

And votes are never sold. 

I'm fond of all antiquities. 

But how shall I get there ? 

" Straight down the Crooked Lane, 

And all round the Square." 

They say there is a Royal Court 

Maintain'd in noble state, 

Where every able man, and good, 

Is certain to be great ! 

I'm very fond of seeing sights. 

But how shall I get there ? 

" Straight down the Crooked Lane, 

And all round the Square." 

They say there is a Temple too, 

Where Christians come to pray ; 

But canting knaves and hypocrites, 

And bigots keep away. 

O ! that's the parish church for me I 

But how shall I get there ? 

" Straight down the Crooked Lane, 

And all round the Square." 

They say there is a Garden faij% 
That's liaii tiled by the dove, 
Where lo\e of gohl doth ne'er eclipse 
The golden light of love — 



A PLAIN DIEIXTIOX. 431 

The place must be a Paradise, 
But how shall I get there ? 
" Straight down the Crooked Lane, 
And all round the Square." 

I've heard there is a famous Land 
For public spii-it known — 
Whose Patriots love its interests 
Much better than their own. 
The Land of Promise sure it is ! 
But how shall I get there ? 
" Straight down "the Crooked Lane, 
And ail round the Square." 

I've read about a fine Estate, 

A Mansion large and strong ; 

A view all over Kent and back, 

And going lor a song. 

George Robins knows the very spot 

But how shall I get there ? 

" Straight down the Crooked Lane, 

And ail round the Sc^uare." 

I've heard there is a Company 

All formal and enroU'd, 

Will take your smallest silver coin 

And give it back in gold. 

Of course the office door is mobb'd, 

But how shall 1 get there ? 

" Straight down the Crooked Lane, 

And all round the Square." 

I've heard about a pleasant Land, 
Wliere omelettes grow on trees, 
And roasted pigs run crying out, 
" Come eat me, if you please." 
Mv appetite is rather keen, 
But Jiow shall I get there? 
^' Straight down the ('rooked Lane, 
And all round the S(juarc." 



^ 



£> 



432 A TABLE OF KHRATA. 

A TABLE OF ERRATA. 

{Hostess loquitur.) 

Well ! thanks be to Heaven, 
The summons is given ; 
It's only gone seven 

And should have been six ; 
There's fine overdoing 
In roasting and stewing, 
And victuals past chewing 

To rags and to sticks ! 

How dreadfully chilly I 
I shake, willy-nilly ; 
That John is so silly, 

And never will learn. 
This plate is a cold one, 
That cloth is an old one, 
I wish they had told one, 

The lamp wouldn't burn. 

Now then for some blunder. 
For nerves to sink under; 
I never shall wonder, 

Whatever goes ill. 
That fish is a riddle ! 
It's broke in the middle. 
A Turbot ! a fiddle ! 

It's only a Brill ! 

It's quite over-boil'd too, 
The butter is oil'd too, 
The soup is all spoil'd too, 

It's nothing but slop. 
The smelts looking flabby, 
Tbe soles are as dabby, 



A TABLE OF ERUATA. 4;}.^ 

It all is so shabby 

That Cook shall not stop ! 

As sure as the morning, 
She gets a month's warning, 
My orders for scorning — 

There's nothing to eat ! 
I hear such a rushing, 
I feel such a flushing, 
I know I am blushing 

As red as a beet ! 

Friends flatter and flatter, 
I wish they would chatter ; 
What can be the matter 

That nothing comes next ? 
How very unpleasant ! 
Lord ! there is the pheasant I 
Not wanted at present, 

I'm born to be vext ! 

The puddmg brought on too 
And aiming at ton too ! 
And where is that John too, 

The plague that he is ? 
He's ofi* on some ramble : 
And there is Miss CampbelL 
Enjoying the scramble, 

Detestable Quiz ! 

The veal they all eye it. 

But no one will try it. 

An Ogre would shy it, ^ 

So ruddy as that ! 
And as for the mutton. 
The cold dish it's put on, 
Converts to a button 
Each drop of the fat. 
VOL. 1. '^^ 



434 A TABLE OF ERRATA. 

The beef without mustard ! 
My fate's to be fluster'd, 
And there comes the custard 

To eat with the hare ! 
Such flesh, fowl and fishing, 
Such waiting and dishing, 
I cannot help wishing 

A woman might swear ! 

Oh dear ! did I ever — 
But no, I did never — 
Well, come, that is clever. 

To send up the brawn ! 
That cook, I could scold her, 
Gets worse as she's older ; 
I wonder who told her 

That woodcocks are drawn I 

It's really audacious ! 
I cannot look gracious. 
Lord help the voracious 

That came for a cram ! 
There's Alderman Fuller 
Gets duller and duller. 
Those fowls, by the colour. 

Were boil'd with the ham I 

Well, where is the curry ? 

I'm all in a flurry. 

No, cook's in no hurry — 

A stoppage again ! 
And John makes it wider, 
A pretty provider ! 
By bringing up cider 

Instead of champagne ! 

My troubles come faster ! 
There's my lord and master 
Detects each disaster, 



A ROW AT THE OXFORD ARMS. 435 

And hardly can sit : 
He cannot help seeing, 
All things disagreeing; 
If he begins d — ing 

I'm off in a fit ! 

This cooking ? — it's messing ! 
The spinach wants pressing, 
And salads in dressing 

Are best with good eggs. 
And John — yes, already — 
Has had something heady, 
That makes him unsteady 

In keeping his legs. 

How shall I get through it ! 
I never can do it, 
I'm quite looking to it, 

To sink by and by. 
Oh ! would 1 were dead now, 
Or up in my bed now. 
To cover my head now. 

And have a good cry ! 



A ROW AT THE OXFORD ARMS. 



" Glorious Apollo from on high beheld us." 

Old Song 



As latterly I chanced to pass 
A Public House, from which, alas! 
The Arms of Oxford dangle ! 
My ear was startled by a din. 
That made me tremble in my skin, 
A dreadful hubbub from within, 
Of voices in a wrangle — - 



430 A ROW AT THE OXFORD ARMS. 

Voices loud, and voices high, 

With now and then a party-cry, 

Such as used in times gone by 

To scare the British border : 

When foes from North and South of Tweed-^ 

Neighbours — and of Christian creed — 

Met in hate to fight and bleed, 

Upsetting Social Order. 

Surprised, I turn'd me to the crowd, 

Attracted by that tumult loud, 

And ask'd a gazer, beetle-brow'd, 

The cause of such disquiet. 

When lo ! the solemn-looking man, 

First shook his head on Burleigh's plan, 

And then, with fluent tongue, began 

His version of the riot : — 

A row! — why yes,— a pretty row, you might hear 

from this to Garmany, 
And what is worse, it's all got up among the Sons 

of Harmony, 
The more's the shame for them as used to be in 

time and tune, 
And all unite in chorus like the singing-birds in 

June ! 
Ah ! many a pleasant chant I've heard, in passing 

here along. 
When Swiveller was President a-knocking down 

a song ; 
But Dick's resign'd the post, you see, and all them 

shouts and hollers 
[s 'cause two other candidates, some sort of larned 

scholars, 
Are squabbling to be Chairman of the Glorious 

Apollers ! 

Lord knows their names, I'm sure I don't, no more 

than any yokel, [vocal ; 

But I never heard of either as connected with the 



A ROW AT THE OXFORD ARMS. 437 

Na}", some do say, although of course the public 

rumour varies, 
They've no more warble in 'em than a pair of hen 

canaries ; 
Though that might pass if they were dabs at t'other 

sort of thing, 
For a man may make a song, you know, although 

he cannot sing ; 
But lork! it's many folks' belief they're only good 

at prosing, 
For Catnach swears he never saw a verse of their 

composing ; 
Aud when a piece of poetry has stood its public 

trials, 
If pop'lar, it gets printed off at once in Seven 

Dials, 
And then about all sorts of streets, by every little 

monkey, 
It's chanted like the " Dog's Meat Man," or " If I 

had a Donkey." 
Whereas, as Mr. Cateach says, and not a bad judge 

neither. 
No ballad worth a ha'penny has ever come from 

either, 
And him as writ " Jim Crow," he says, and got 

such lots of dollars, 
Would make a better Chairman for the Glorious 

Apollers. 

Howsomever that's the meaning of the squabble 
that arouses 

This neighbourhood, and quite disturbs all decent 
Heads of Houses, 

Who want to have their dinners and their parties, 
as is reason, _ 

In Christian peace and charity according to the 
season. 

But from Number Thirty-Nine — since this election- 
eering job, 



438 A ROW AT THE OXFORD ARMS. 

Ay, as far as Number Ninety, there's an everlast- 
ing mob ; 

Till the thing is quite a nuisance, for no creature 
passes by, 

But he gets a card, a pamphlet, or a summut in his 
eye ; 

And a pretty noise there is ! — what with canvassers 
and spouters, 

For in course each side is furnish'd with its backei-s 
and its touters ; 

And surely among the Clergy to such pitches it is 
carried, 

You can hardly find a Parson to get buried or get 
mai-ried ; 

Or supposing any accident that suddenly alarms, 

If you're dying for a surgeon, you must fetch him 
from the " Arms : " 

While the Schoolmasters and Tooters are neglect- 
ing of their scholars. 

To write about a Chairman for the Glorious 
Apoliers. 

Well, that, sir, is the racket ; and the more the sin 

and shame 
Of them that help to stir it up, and propagate the 

same ; 
Instead of vocal ditties, and the social flowing 

cup, — 
But they'll be the House's ruin, or the shutting of 

it up, — 
With their riots and their hubbubs, like a garden 

full of bears. 
While they've damaged many articles and broken 

lots of squares. 
And kept their noble Club Room in a perfect dust 

and smother. 
By throwing Morning Heralds^ Times, and Stand- 
ards at each other ; [to repeat, 
Not to name the ugly language Gemmen oughtn't 



A. ROW AT THE OXFORD ARMS. 439 

And the names they call each other — for I've 

heard 'em in the street — 
Such as Traitors, Guys, and Judases, and Vipers, 

and what not, 
For Pasley and his divers an't so blowing-up a lot. 
And then such awful swearing ! — for there's one 

of them that cusses 
Enough to shock the cads that hang on opposition 

'busses ; 
For he cusses every member that's agin him at the 

As I wouldn't cuss a donkey, tho' it hasn't got a 

soul ; 
And he cusses all their families, Jack, Harry, Bob, 

or Jim, 
To the babby in the cradle, if they don't agree 

with him. 
Whereby, altho' as yet they have not took to use 

their fives. 
Or, a{;cording as the fashion is, to sticking with 

their knives, 
I'm bound there'll be some milling yet, and 

shakings by the collars, 
Afore they choose a Chairman for the Glorious 

Apollers ! 

To be sure it is a pity to be blowing such a squall. 
Instead of clouds, and every man his song, and 

then his call — 
And as if there wasn't Whigs enough and Tories 

to fall out, 
Besides politics in plenty for our splits to be about — 
Why, a cornfield is sufficient, sir, as anybody 

knows, 
For to furnish them in plenty who are fond of 

picking crows — 
Not to name the INIaynooth CathoUcs, and other 

Irish stews, 
To ao-itate society and loosen all Its screws ; 



440 A ROW AT THE OXFORD ARMS. 

And which all may be agreeable and proper to 

their spheres, — 
But it's not the thing for musicals to set us by the 

ears. 
And as to College laming, my opinion for to 

broach, 
And I've had it from my cousin, and he driv a 

college coach, 
And so knows the University, and all as there 

belongs, 
And he says that Oxford's famouser for sausages 

than songs, 
And seldom turns a poet out like Hudson that can 

chant. 
As well as make such ditties as the Free and 

Easies want. 
Or other Tavern Melodists I can't just call to 

mind — 
But it's not the classic system for to propagate the 

kind. 
Whereby it so may happen as that neither of them 

Scholars 
May be the proper Chairman for the Glorious 

ApoUers ! 

For my part in the matter, if so be I had a 

voice, 
It's the best among the vocalists I'd honour with 

the choice ; 
Or a poet as could furnish a new Ballad to the 

bunch ; 
Or at any rate the surest hand at mixing of the 

punch ; 
'Cause why, the members meet for that and other 

tuneful frolics — 
And not to say, like Muffincaps, their Catichiz and 

Collec's. 
But you see them there Itinerants that preach so 

loii"- and loud, 



A ROW AT THE OXFORD ARMS. 441 

And always takes advantage like the pn'gs of any 

crowd, 
Have brought their jangling voices, and as far as 

they can compass, 
Have turn'd a tavern shindy to a seriouser 

rumpus. 
And him as knows most hymns — altho' I can't see 

how it follers — 
They want to be the Chairman of the Glorious 

ApoUers ! 

Well, that's the row — and who can guess the 

upshot after all ? 
"WTiether Harmony will ever make the "Arms " her 

House of call, 
Or whether this here mobbing — as some longish 

heads foretell it, 
Will grow to such a riot that the Oxford Bluea 

must quell it, 
Howsomever, tor the present, there's no sign of 

any peace. 
For the hubbub keeps a growing, and defies the 

New I^olice ; — 
But if I was in the Vestry, and a leading sort of 

Man, 
Or a Member of the Vocals, to get backers for my 

plan, 
Why I'd settle all the squabble in the twinkle of a 

needle, 
For I'd have another candidate — and that's the 

Parish Beadle, 
Who makes such lots of Poetry, himself, or else by 

proxy, 
And no one never has no doubts about his ortho- 
doxy ; 
Whereby— if folks was wise — instead of either of 

tbem Scholars, 
And straining their own lungs along of contradic- 
tious hollers, 



442 EQUESTRIAN COURTSHIP. 

They'll lend tlieir ears to reason, and take my 

advice as follers, 
Namely — Bumble for the Chairman of the Glorious 

Apollers ! 



EQUESTRIAN COURTSHIP. 

I. 

It was a young maiden went forth to ride, 
And there was a wooer to pace by her side ; 
His horse was so little, and hers so high. 
He thought his Angel was up in the sky. 

II. 

His love was great, tho' his wit was small ; 
He bade her ride easy — and that was all. 
The very horses began to neigh, — 
Because their betters had nought to say. 

III. 

They rode by elm, and they rode by oak, 

They rode by a churchyard, and then he spoke : — • 

" My pretty maiden, if you'll agree 

You shall always ramble through life with me." 



The damsel answer'd him never a word, 

But kick'd the gray mare, and away she spurr'd. 

The wooer still folio w'd behind the jade. 

And enjoy'd — like a wooer — the dust she made. 

V. 

They rode thro' moss, and they rode thro' moory- 

The gallant behind and the lass before ; — 

At last they came to a miry place, 

And there the sad wooer gave up the chase. 



AN OPEN QUESTION. 443 



Quoth he, " If my nag were better to ride, 
I'd follow her over tlie world so wide. 
Oh, it is not my love that begins to fail, 
But I've lost the last glimpse of the gray mare's 
tail ! " 



AN OPEIS QUESTION. 

♦' It is the king's highway, that we are in, and in this way it 's 
Ihai thou hast placed the lions."— Bunyan 

I. 

What ! shut the Gardens I lock the latticed 
gate ! 

Refuse the shilling and the Fellow's ticket ! 
And hang a wooden notice up to state, 

" On Sundays no admittance at this wicket I" 
The Birds, the* Beasts, and all the Reptile race 

Denied to friends and visitors till Monday I 
Now, really, this ajjpears the common case 

Of putting too much Sabbath into Sunday — 

But what is your opinion, Mrs. Grundy V 

II. 

The Gardens — so unlike the ones we dub 
Of Tea, wherein the ai'tisan carouses,— 

Mere shrubberies without one drop of shrub, — 
Wherefore should they be closed like public- 
houses ? , 

No ale is vended at the wild Deer's Head,— 
Nor rum — nor gin — not even of a Monday — 

The Lion is not carved — or gilt — or red. 

And does not send out porter of a Sunday — 
But what is your opinion, Mrs Grundy ? 



444 AN OPEN QUESTION. 



The Bear denied ! the Leopard under locks ! 

As if his spots would give contagious fevers ! 
The Beaver close as hat within its box ; 

So different from other Sunday beavers ! 
The Birds invisible — the Gnaw-way Rats — 

The Seal hermetically seal'd till Monday — ■ 
The Monkey tribe — the Family of Cats, — 

We visit other families on Sunday — 

But what is your opinion, Mrs. Grundy ? 



What is the brute profanity that shocks 
The super-sensitively serious feeling ? 

The Kangaroo — is he not orthodox 

To bend his legs, the way he does, in kneeling ? 

Was strict Sir Andrew, in his sabbath coat, 
Struck all a heap to see a Coad miindi f 

Or did the Kentish Plumtree faint to note 
The Pelicans presenting bills on Sunday ? — 
But what is your opinion, Mrs. Grundy ? 

V. 

What feature has repulsed the serious set ? 

What error in the bestial birth or breeding, 
To put their tender fancies on the fret V 

One thing is plain — it is not in the feeding ! 
Some stifiish people think that smoking joints 

Are carnal sins 'twixt Saturday and Monday- 
But then the beasts are pious on these points, 

For they all eat cold dinners on a Sunday — • 

But what is your opinion. Mrs. Grundy ? 

VI. 

What change comes o'er the spirit of the place, 
As if transmuted by some spell organic V 

Turns fell Hysena of the Ghoulish race ? 
The Snake, pro tempore, the true Satanic ? 



AN OPEN QUESTION. 4-15 

Do Irish minds, — (whose theory allows 

That now and then Good Friday falls on Mod- 
day)— 

Do Irish minds suppose that Indian Cows 
Are wicked Bulls of Bashan on a Sunday — 
But what is your opinion, Mrs. Grundy V 

VII. 
There are some moody Fellows, not a few. 

Who, turn'd by Nature with a gloomy bias, 
llenour.ce black devils to adopt the blue, 

And think when they are dismal they are pious 
Is't possible that Pug's untimely fun 

Has sent the brutes to Coventry till Monday — 
Or p'rhaps some animal, no serious one, 

Was overheard in laughter on a Sunday — 

But what is your opinion, Mrs. Grundy ? 



What dire offence have serious Fellows found 
To raise their spleen against the Regent's 
spmney ? 

Were charitable boxes handed round. 

And would not Guinea Pigs subscribe theii 
guinea ? 

Perchance, the Demoiselle refused to moult 

The feathers in her head — at least till Monday ; 

Or did the Elephant, unseemly, bolt 

A tract presented to be read on Sunday — 
But what is your opinion, Mrs. Grundy ? 

IX. 

At whom did Leo struggle to get loose ? 

Who mourns through Monkey tricks his damaged 
clothing ? 
Who has been hiss'd by the Canadian Goose V 

On \\hom did Llama spit in utter loathing? 
Some Smithfield Saint did jealous feelings tell 

To keep the Puma out of sight till Monday, 



446 AN OPEN QUESTION. 

Because lie prey'd extempore as well 
As certain wild Itinerants on Sunday — 
But what is your opinion, Mrs. Grundy ? 

X. 

To me it seems that in the oddest way 

(Begging the pardon of each rigid Socius) 

Our would-be Keepers of the Sabbath-day 

Are like the Keepers of the brutes ferocious — 

As soon the Tiger might expect to stalk 

About the grounds from Saturday till Monday, 

As any harmless man to take a walk, 

If Saints could clap him in a cage on Sunday- 
But what is your opinion, Mrs. Grundy ? 

XI. 

In spite of all hypocrisy can spin, 
As surely as I am a Christian scion, 

I cannot think it is a mortal sin — 

(Unless he's loose) to look upon a lion. 

I really think that one may go, perchance, 
To see a bear, as guiltless as on Monday — 

(That is, provided that he did not dance) 
Bruin's no worse than bakiu' on a Sunday — 
But what is your opinion, Mrs. Grundy ? 



In spite of all the fanatic compiles, 
I cannot think the day a bit diviner. 

Because i»o children, with forestalling smiles. 
Throng, happy, to the gates of Eden Minor — 

It is not plain, to my poor faith at least. 

That what we christen " Natural " on Monday, 

The wondrous history of Bird and Beast, 
Can be Unnatural because it's Sunday — 
But what is your opinion, Mrs. Grundy ? 

XIII. 

Whereon is sinful fantasy to work ? 
The Dove, the wing'd Columbus of man's haven ? 



AN OPEN QUESTION. -117 

The tender Love-BIrd — or the filial Stork ? 

The punctual Crane— the providential Raven ? 
The Pelican whose bosom feeds her younir '• 

Nay, must we cut from Saturday till INIonday 
That feather'd marvel with a human toni>m', 

Because she does not preach upon a Sunda}- — 

But what is your opinion, Mrs. Grundy ? 



The busy Beaver — that sagacious beast ! 

The Sheep that own'd an Oriental Shepherd — 
That Desert-ship, the Camel of the East, 

The horn'd Rhinoceros — the spotted Leopard — 
The Creatures of the Great Creator's hand 

Are surely sights for better days than Mon- 
day — 
The Elephant, although he wears no band. 

Has he no sermon in his trunk for Sunday — 

But what is your opinion, Mrs. Grundy ? 

XV. 

What harm 5f men who burn the midnight-oil, 
Weary of frame, and worn and wan in feature, 

Seek once a week iheir spirits to assoil, 

And snatch a glimpse of " Animated Nature ? " 

Better it were if, in his best of suits, 

The artisan, who goes to work on Monday, 

Should spend a leisure hour amongst the brutes, 
Than make a beast of his own self on Sunday — 
But what is your opinion, Mrs. Grundy ? 

XVI. 

Why, zounds ! what raised so Protestant a fuss 
(Onut the zounds ! for which I make apology) 

But that the Papists, like some Fellows, thus 

Had somehow mix'd up Dens with their The- 
ology V 

Is Brahn)a's Bull — a Hindoo God at home— 
A papal Bull to be tied up till Monday — 



448 



AN OPEN QUESTION. 



Or Leo, like his namesake, Pope of Eome, 

That there is such a dread of them on Sunday — 
But what is your opinion Mrs. Grundy ? 



Spirit of Kant ! have we not had enough 

To make Religion sad, and sour, and snubbish, 

But Saints Zoological must cant their stuff, 
As vessels cant their ballast — rattling rubbish ! 

Once let the sect, triumphant to their text, 
Shut Nero up from Saturday till Monday, 

And sure as fate they will deny us next 
To see the Dandelions on a Sunday — 
But what is your opinion, Mrs. Grundy ? 



END OF VOL I 



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